Two Desks Apart
by msmerlin13
Summary: Draco used a strict set of rules to regulate his once out of control life post-war. His parents and friends express concern over his stagnant life in the form of setting him up on blind dates in hopes of helping Draco find 'the one'. Little did they all know, the witch who captured his heart had been just two desk apart from him for the past two years
1. Chapter 1

**Written for TheMourningMadam's Fairy Tale Fest**

**Fairy Tale Inspiration: Taper Tom**

_Disclaimer: I do not own any part of JK Rowling's Wizarding World, nor do I make any money off writing fanfiction._

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**Wednesday, November 5th 2008**

"Draco, your father and I have something we would like to discuss with you."

"We do?"

"Yes, Lucius. _We do."_

From his twenty eight years walking this earth, Draco knew that nothing good ever followed that particular conversation starter. In fact, typically what followed were the types of conversations he tried desperately to avoid. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he held his gaze on his dinner plate, gritting his teeth as he heard the soft tink of his mother setting down her cutlery.

Piercing his smothered pork loin with his fork, he began to drag his knife across the tender meat, taking his time cutting the entire slice into miniscule bits as a means to distract himself from giving into the impulse to run from the room. "Oh?"

"Yes." His mother sighed. He didn't have to look up to know she was likely sitting with her hands folded in her lap, looking at him the way that said 'adoring mother' to anyone outside his family, but he knew better. Narcissa Malfoy had a masterful poker face, one that even the Dark Lord has not been able to see the truth behind. She could look you straight in the eye and wish for your demise with a smile that would leave even babies cooing. "Draco, we're concerned about you."

"_Oh bloody hell_," Draco murmured, praying it wasn't loud enough for either of his parents to hear as he set his cutlery down on his plate, letting the silver clatter loudly against his mother's second-best china. Perhaps he could Apparate from the dining room to his wing? The wards surely couldn't hold if he was the initiator, right? Or maybe he could just turn his steak knife on his own throat and end himself before this conversation began.

"It's been over ten years since you've graduated, and four years since…"

"Since Astoria left me?" Draco finally lifted his eyes, his lips pursing to the corner of his mouth as he peered across the table at his mother with a lifted brow. "You can say it, mother. It's been four years, as you just pointed out."

"No need to be so hostile, Draco," his mother tsked, her bejeweled hand waving toward him before she reached to take a sip of her chardonnay. "We are simply concerned about your lack of forward momentum in life is all."

"Forward momentum? I accepted a promotion two years ago and I am in place to take over Janglehorn's position when he retires. I do believe this counts as forward momentum." Picking up his napkin from his lap, he dabbed the cream cloth against his lips before depositing it over his half eaten meal, suddenly no longer feeling in the mood for his dinner. "Most parents would be proud of the _forward momentum _I've accomplished."

Lucius, who had yet to cease eating his dinner, lifted his head from his plate, white blond hair spilling over his shoulders as he straightened his spine. "Most don't have their thirty-year-old still living at home."

"Lucius," Narcissa whispered, her head snapping towards her husband.

"If you'd like, I have no problem moving out," Draco returned quickly, his hackles raising.

"By all means, son." Lucius lifted his fork and took an aggressive bite of his pork, blue eyes narrowing infinitesimally across the table as his heir.

"That is exactly what we _don't_ want, Draco," Narcissa's voice lifted, bordering on shrill as she looked between her husband and son. "And we are immensely proud of your accomplishments at the Ministry. I was referring to your personal life."

Draco wasn't an idiot. Of course he knew what his mother had been referring to, but he still hoped maybe they could dance around the topic long enough for her to lose interest in favor of talking about an upcoming garden party, or the latest gossip within her pureblood sewing circle. However, it appeared she was bypassing all her normal hints and going straight for the jugular this evening.

Reaching up, his fingers brushed his fringe off his forehead as he leaned back in the chair, his spine pressing sharply against the hard wood as he crossed his legs at the knee. Might as well get comfortable since this conversation was not going to end quickly. "I am not seeing how my personal life is really any of your concern."

"Draco." His father growled in warning as he gestured for the house elf to provide a refill of their dinner drinks.

While he would never consider himself a social butterfly, Draco was far from a recluse. Since ending his relationship with Astoria he had developed a strict routine he stuck to during the work week. It provided him a consistency in his life that he craved not only post-war, but post heartbreak. He wasn't able to control so much about his life during his last years at school—for obvious reasons—and in the end he was not able to control if a witch returned his affections or not. But his schedule? The timetable by which he ran his life? That was entirely in his control.

He woke up at precisely 4:45 a.m. Monday through Friday. He breakfasted on three eggs whites, a half cup of mixed berries, and two pieces of bacon in the dining hall at 5:30am, with or without his parents' company. He would read the Daily Prophet, and catch up on the latest news as he ate in comfortable silence. He would Floo to the Ministry by 6:15am and work out in their gym for roughly 45 minutes before showering, changing and walking into his office by 7:30am.

Lunch was at 11:45am and lasted no more than 30 minutes—typically shorterand by 5:15pm he was walking through the Floo home for a 5:45pm dinner. Unless, of course, it was Thursday. On Thursday he met Blaise and Theo for drinks at The Golden Finch in Appleby at 6:00pm, which meant he worked late. But regardless of drinks with the lads, or not, his day ended precisely at 9:00pm. He would crawl into bed, read for roughly an hour before turning out the lights and starting the routine over.

It wasn't terribly exciting, he knew that, but it provided an unexplainable comfort that he was not willing to part with just to appease his parents' ideals about what a proper social life looked like for a 29-year-old bachelor.

"I am just stating that as far as my personal life is concerned, I am doing fine on my own. Truth be told, I really think you both should think yourselves lucky considering how well adjusted I am. I could have ended up like Marcus Flint—pissing away the family fortune on women and spirits."

"_Draco Lucius_!"

"That's quite enough, son!"

His father and mother spoke in unison, each tone equally as disapproving.

Draco lifted a hand toward the ceiling, his eyes rolling as he set his jaw. Merlin, what did they expect from him? He was far from a child, and while yes, it was _impolite_ to discuss Marcus was going through, it wasn't like he was speaking lies. The wizard was a bloody mess, and everyone knew it.

"We want to see you happy, Draco," Narcissa said after the silence grew too long.

"I _am_ happy."

Narcissa sighed, gray eyes softening on her boy and she glanced across the room and gave the house elves that lingered along the edge of the room a nod of her head before she gestured to their dinner plates. "No, you're complacent."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Draco scooted back his chair just a hint, allowing the wrinkly little creature to lean in and grab his plate before he leaned forward to pick up his water cup and he took a large sip.

Narcissa's lips thinned and she made a slow, exaggerated motion of folding her hands over each other on the dining table in front of her, her nude painted nails tapping against the wood as she raised a single brow at him.

"Fine. I'll put in some effort to get out more," Draco relented, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on the arm of his chair as he looked across the table blankly at his parents, using his Occlumency to conceal his emotions. If there was one bloody good thing that came from the war, it had been learning this art from his Aunt and godfather. It had come in handy not only in dealing with his parents over the years, but also in the courtroom.

His mind had already began to swirl, thinking of ways he could occupy a couple hours out of the house on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. He was not interested in visiting Gregory or Astoria— their friendship had barely survived the betrayal of their courtship and subsequent marriage, and Draco was most definitely not interested in pursuing anything more than the formality they held now. Another night out with Blaise might be optional, pending Gabirelle's approval of course. Theo would have to be out though—Tracy was due to give birth in two months and he highly doubted she would allow him not one but two nights out a week with a newborn at home.

"We actually have another plan."

His mother's words sliced through his planning, freezing the gears of his mind and when he focused his eyes back on her, his brow knit in the center of his forehead, thick with confusion. Another plan? What the bloody hell did she mean by that?

"I've taken the liberty of setting you up on a date."

"Excuse me?" Draco shook his head, the thick muscle that lined his jaw flexing as he ground his molars together. "Absolutely not."

Narcissa didn't skip a beat, continuing as if she hadn't heard a single word of protest. "She's a nice witch. From a good family—although I would have personally liked them to be a bit more traditional, it might be beneficial for our family to be seen with more modern purebloods." She said with a thoughtful tap of her index finger on the dining table as her eyes drifted toward the ceiling. "Regardless, I think you two will get along well."

"No. Not happening."

"Draco," Narcissa sighed. "Please don't fight us on this. We just want to see you happy."

"I could care less about happiness," Lucius spoke up from behind the rim of his wine glass. "I, for one, am concerned about an heir for the Malfoy family. By your age I was already married and had you to raise."

Draco's head rose and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he inhaled heavily through his nose. By thirty, Lucius hadn't been through a war. He hadn't bloody gone to trial for crimes he was forced to commit. He hadn't had to work his way from a social pariah to a semi-normal existence in the world. He wanted to remind them how it wasn't a lack of effort in dating, but rather years of being less-than-politely shot down that made him not want to put himself out there. He wanted to point out that he had no bloody interest in dating—let alone marrying—a witch when he was still getting over the years of physical and mental abuse.

Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek, letting the slow swell of pain silence his words as he tried to control himself from lashing out.

"You're set for dinner tomorrow at Lorenzo's. I've arranged for a nice five course meal with a wine pairing. Tabitha went last week with her son and she told me the food was impeccable and their house wine was lovely," Narcissa said with a uplift in her tone that sounded like nails on a chalkboard—grating and shrill, sending the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention.

Focusing on his breath, he pulled air in through his nose and out through his mouth, lettingthe steady flow of oxygen as well as the pinch of his pressure points calm him until he could speak without snapping at his mother. "And there's nothing I can do to persuade you to cancel this charade?"

"No."

"Who is she?"

"You'll see tomorrow evening." Narcissa's gray eyes flickered away from her and down to the little house elf that appeared on her left. Her pursed lips lifted in the tiniest hint of a smile as the creature set down a small silver dish of vanilla ice cream with a berry compote drizzled over the top. "Oh look, Lucius. Avati has prepared your favourite."

"Wonderful, darling," Lucius replied before holding out his wine toward another house elf for another refill.

"No, thank you," Draco said, holding up his hand towards the house elf who was about to set his dessert in front of him and he stiffened in his chair. "So wait, you won't even tell me who she is?"

"Is that information really necessary?" Narcissa questioned as she scooped up a tiny spoonful of the dessert.

"Yes. It's completely necessary, seeing as I'm the one that is going on the bloody date," Draco said, his eyes widening in disbelief as he watched his parents tuck into the final course of their meal like the conversation occurring between them wasn't wrought with tension.

"Well, there is no need to swear, Draco," Narcissa clucked, taking another bite of her dessert. "But I'm still not going to tell you. I don't trust you won't owl the nice young witch and cancel based on preconceived judgement."

"Oh bloody hell," Draco swore as he tossed his hands in the air with an irritated sigh that only succeeded in earning the ire of his father. "This is absolutely ridiculous! I am not going on a—"

The sound of Lucius' fist slamming against the table resounded off the walls, and instantly silenced Draco's words. His jaw set as he looked at his father, who had set down his spoon and was staring at him with narrowed eyes across the table. "You going on this date is _not_ optional, Draco."

"If you feel so strongly about it, why don't you go for me?" Draco let slip before he could censor himself.

"Because I am not the one choosing to waste my life!" Lucius snapped, his nostrils flaring. "You would do very well to remember you are living under my roof, eating food that my money purchased, and enjoying the comforts of a lavish lifestyle thanks to _my_ hard work. This is not optional, Draco. Do you understand?"

As he ground his teeth together, Draco could swear he tasted the chalky powder of the enamel on his teeth coat his tongue. He felt his fingers flex around the arms of his chair, his nails biting into the wood as he stared at his father with a deep set brow. Merlin, he wanted to tell him to piss off. To remind him that he was this bloody way because of choices his father made years ago. How marrying young might be beneficial for his parents, but he was definitely not them. And that the idea of passing on his family name to anyone felt fucking disgusting because of the dark history that would forever plague feature generations.

Yet, against his impulse to scream and fight back, Draco ran his tongue across his teeth behind his lips before finally speaking. "Understood."

Lucius gave a curt nod before leaning back in his chair. His blue eyes stayed leveled on his son as he picked up his spoon and he took a bit of his ice cream.

"Look, Draco. I am sure this isn't easy for you to understand," his mother began with what felt like the understatement of the year. "But we are not asking you to fall in love with the witch. All I am requesting is that you take her for a nice dinner. She is a nice girl, good lineage and should something spark, then so be is. She could be a well suited match for you and the family."

The family. It always came back to the bloody family. Draco pressed his lips together, before he gave his mother a slow nod. There was little he could say that was going to get him out of going. Arguing was not going to change their mind, and clearly not doing anyone in the room any favors. "Are we done, here?" he spoke as he stood up from the table, the harsh squeak of his chair sliding across the floor causing his mother to flinch.

"Yes, I suppose we are." Narcissa was the first to reply, only after laying her hand on her husband's.

Draco gave a quick nod, and he slid his hands into his trouser pockets where he wove a loose knut between his fingers as he began towards the exit. This wasn't about his happiness. It was about theirs—and how bloody important it was to keep up images. He was the last of his friends to get married, or at least be in a committed relationship. For years now his mother had used the heartbreak excuse, but clearly it'd reached its limit on being accepted. Just as he reached the threshold that would take him into the hallway, his mother's voice pulled him back from his introspection about the overreaching his parents had done.

"We are doing this because we love you, you know?"

Thankful that his back was to his mother, Draco's eyes rolled skyward as he paused in the doorway and he took a single breath before looking over his shoulder to where they still sat hand in hand at the dining table. "I'm aware."

"Are you angry with us?" Narcissa pressed.

"I'm not overjoyed," he replied honestly.

Narcissa nodded, and even from across the room he could see the way her hand tightened its hold on his father's. "I understand… I do hope your evening in the library helps calm your nerves."

"I'm going out." Draco didn't know why he felt the need to inform them, it wasn't like it mattered anyway. As much as he enjoyed his solitude in his wing, staying for longer than needed in the Manor tonight felt like a greater task than he was willing to put up with.

"Wow," Lucius said a bit louder than necessary, his eyebrows lifting to his hairline in obvious mock surprise. "Breaking routine. It's Wednesday, are you _sure_ you want to do that?"

"Lucius!" Narcissa hits, releasing her hold on his hand to swat at his chest with a disapproving glare.

"Goodnight." Draco replied crisply before turning around and exiting the room before he said something he regretted. Despite his routine, and his carefully laid plans for the evening, now more than ever he wanted out from under the Manor's roof—at least until 9:00pm.

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**Thursday, November 6th 2008**

His silver wrist watch jingled as he shook it down his wrist, letting the heavy metal rest at the base of his hand as he moved down the white-tiled Ministry corridor. The analog clock that sat behind the receptionist's desk let him know he was running five minutes late.

While rationally he knew it was his own fault for spending those precious extra minutes soaking in the hot shower's spray after his workout, part of him put fault on his parent's sudden interest in his love life.

His head dipped in a single nod of hello towards the Wizengamot's aging receptionist, Gertie, and he continued past her desk and down the narrow corridor towards his office. Since starting with the Wizengamot his desk had moved three times. The first move was because the broom closet that acted as the Jr. Barristers' room had a Doxy infestation so bad they literally ate holes in the furniture. The second time had been because former his desk mate had written a formal complaint two days after he'd switched rooms. He couldn't really blame Byron, seeing as his niece was Katie Bell, but the wizard had been an astounding prick about the whole thing. Had he come talk to him, Draco would have happily requested the transfer himself.

The third move had taken place about a year ago. It came after a miniscule promotion he'd received after assisting with the O'Sullivan Mating case. At the time he was thrilled to move into an office, a real office. One with a door, and climate control, and some solitude. That was until he'd met his office mate.

Granger.

How fate's cruel hand always brought him back to the bushy haired annoyance from his childhood was almost comical now. Clearly the gods had a vendetta against him. He knew she worked for the Wizengamot, but their respective career paths had yet to cross until that fateful winter morning.

In the beginning it had been rough, as sharing an office with the girl-turned-woman who was the literal cause of the majority of your adolescent trauma would be, but over the past two years they'd managed to work beyond their past and develop what Draco might even consider a friendship. He wasn't asking her out for pints, but a shared lunch hour in the canteen was a huge step up from where they had begun.

Pushing open the office door, Draco edged his way around a large stack of boxes that sat next to Granger's desk, the toe of his loafers nudging the cardboard as he moved to his side of their tiny office. To no one's surprise, the witch was already elbow deep in work. Her wild curls were pulled back from her face and held back with a hair pin. He could see a distinct blue ink splotches across her fingers and hands, which let him know that Barrister Valcuther must had dropped off some new files for her last night.

The witch didn't even bother to lift her head at his entrance, instead he watched her finger track across the file laid out in front of her at an admirable pace. Draco set his messenger bag on his tidy desk before lowering himself into his squeaky office chair. Leaning back, he set his gym bag on the ground where two of the office walls met before he wheeled his way under his desk. "Did you sleep here Granger?"

"Good morning to you too, Malfoy." Hermione lifted her eyes briefly, flashing a small smile his direction before she turned her attention back to her file.

The corner of his lips pulled in a smirk as he shook his head at the witch. When she got into these particular moods he knew better than to keep talking, as she wasn't really paying attention anyway. He could profess his love for a mountain troll and she wouldn't even bat an eye. Flipping open his messenger bag, he began to thumb through the manila folders inside in search of his latest assignment.

Just as his fingers curled around the thick folder, a motion at the corner of his desk caught his attention. Glancing up he watched a white paper cup float from where Granger's desk connected with his and cross the threshold from her space inside his. The Goblin-branded logo on the front of the cup let him know it came from the small kiosk in the lobby—Erkrat's. He eyed the paper cup curiously, his body stilling as a result.

"English Breakfast," Hermione said as she picked up her quill and tapped the excess ink against the glass pot three times—always, three bloody times—before she began to scrawl notes in the margin of the parchment in front of her. "And before you tell me you don't drink it, I know you do. I tried to get Earl Gray, but they were out in both the Canteen and Erkrat's. I've already owl'd Ambrose about it, and he assured me that will have your blend back in stock tomorrow morning."

"Thank you…?" Draco reached out and wrapped a single hand around the paper cup. His fingertips instantly warmed as he pulled it towards him skeptically and without a word he began to pry the plastic lid of, careful not to spill any of the condensation that collected on the lid on his trousers as he peered inside the cup to see if it had been prepared at all.

"Oh Circe, Malfoy," Hermione said with a disapproving sigh as she flourished a line under the words she just wrote. "Honey, and a splash of milk—in case you were curious. I made it the way you prefer. Do you really think I don't know your preference after sharing this tiny excuse for an office with you for nearly two years?"

"How foolish of me to think otherwise." Draco snorted, finding her annoyance rather endearing all these years later. Lifting the cup he took a small sip, letting the lightly sweetened tea dance across his tongue, as if to confirm she got the ratio correct before he took a much larger sip. "I shall never doubt your capabilities again, Granger."

"Ah, so he _can_ learn." Hermione teased with a smirk that could rival his own, which earn a small chuckle from him. Picking up her own cup, he watched her take a long pull from her morning tea as she leaned back in her chair. Blue inked fingerprints left a trail on the once pristine white of her cup, letting him know she'd likely refilled the thing more than once since starting this morning. "Now if you don't mind, hurry up and finish your first cup. I've got to pick your brain on this Indigenous Plant Bond Valcuther gave me," she said with a lazy gesture towards the messy file on her desk.

With a low groan, Draco leaned forward and planted his elbows on top of his desk, his lips pulling up in a grimace before he took another slow sip. "There is not enough tea in the world that could prepare me for that drivel, Granger." As much as he and Granger argued over the merits of Magical Creature Law, their equal disdain for Herbology Law was actually one of the first things they found they had in common.

Reaching across his desk, he picked up the first sheet from the file and began a quick once over of the synopsis, because despite not wanting to do with this type of case, he wasn't going to let Granger suffer the fate of dealing with magical plants all on her own.

"You're telling me," Hermione said with a small sigh as she leaned back in her chair, the soft squeak from the too-old hinge filling the room as she removed her hairpin and tossed it on her desk. Her thick chestnut curls tumbled from the top of her hair, spilling across her shoulders and down her back as she began to slowly stretch her neck from left to right, relieving a tension he was all too familiar with. "I've been looking at that bloody file since four in the morning."


	2. Chapter 2

**Wednesday, November 5th 2008**

Draco sat impatiently in the dimly lit private dining room in The Prancing Pony. The three small blue flickering flames that hovered over the table cast a foreboding glow across the pristine white place setting. As if he needed an actual reminder of how bloody awful this night was going to be. Even without knowing the girl's name, he highly doubted any handpicked selection by either of his parents was going to amount to anything more than a headache and a wasted evening. But he could take some small solace in the fact that he might get a halfway decent meal out of this mess—and at this point, that was the only thing keeping him from saying to hell with this whole thing and walking out into the Alley.

Shaking his left arm, his wristwatch rattled as it settled around the base of his hand before he checked the time. His lips pinched in displeasure as he watched the second hand tick around the large gleaming surface. She was late—nearly fifteen minutes. He bloody hated it when people were not on time. His father taught him long ago the importance of being punctual. A Malfoy was simply never late, no matter what the circumstances. While many of the things Lucius had taught him were absolute rubbish, this was one rule Draco'd held steadfast to.

Draco jingled his watch around his wrist once more, letting the weight of the heavy metal pull his attention away from how rude this unknown witch was, and he picked up his glass of Riesling from the table. Taking another slow drink, his eyes floated around the room, eyeing the modern decor with a passing interest as he waited. He was going to allow her another five minutes to show up or he was leaving. His mother certainly couldn't fault him for leaving if the bloody witch was twenty minutes late.

"Right this way, Miss."

The maître d's voice floated into the room, signaling that despite his rising hope, he was going to be forced to continue with the date. Setting his glass back on the table, Draco withdrew the white cloth napkin from his lap and it set it beside his cutlery as he rose from the table to meet the mysterious witch.

He'd mentally prepared for the worst, expecting some high bred Pureblood from one of his parents' social circles. Someone he'd likely met thousands of times before and loathed equally as much as she did him. But instead of some nameless member of the Sacred Twenty Eight, a familiar face followed the host into the room.

"Hannah?" Draco's brows rose as he peered across the room at the former Hufflepuff. It had been ages since he'd laid eyes on the witch, but there was no mistaking who she was. Her face was still round, making her deep set blue eyes appear larger than normal. Her hair was the same straw yellow, except it was no longer an untidy mess.

"Hello Draco," the witch greeted with a friendly smile as she crossed the room, not even bothering to thank the maître d' as she moved toward Draco with her right hand extended. "It's so nice to see you. What has it been? Nine, ten years?"

Gray eyes flickered to her outstretched hand which hung limply off her wrist between them as she waited for him to take it. He could feel his upper lip twitch, wanting to pull back in a trademark sneer at the idea of shaking her bloody hand. What was this? Some sort of business luncheon? No, this was a date he was damn near told to attend at wand point. His agreement was to attend, not touch her. Draco's eyes lifted from her hand to her face, his lips pulling back in a forced smile as he gestured to the seat opposite from him at the table. "Yes, give or take… it's nice to see you, too, Hannah. Why don't you take a seat? I've taken the liberty of ordering a starter for us—"

"Oh, you have? Does it contain meat or dairy?" Hannah questioned as she lowered into the seat across from him, either ignoring the snub or simply being simply oblivious. Either way, Draco didn't care. His previous interactions with the witch left little for him to desire in the means of a romantic interest or friendship.

The Abbotts were a part of the Sacred Twenty Eight and if he remembered correctly, their family trees had crossed more than once, many centuries ago. In recent years they had a falling out from the other members of society. Clearly it was his mother's mission to rectify that—likely based solely on the fact that the heir presumptive to the Abbott vaults sat across from him at the table.

"Yes… is that a problem?"

"Well, not if you like the idea of eating another living creature," Hannah snipped with an overly aggressive roll of her eyes.

Draco felt his fingers flex against his thighs and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out and telling Hannah that if she had such a strong opinion on the selection of their meal, then she should have shown up on time. Instead he simply lowered in his chair and draped his napkin over his thighs, using the action as a means to collect his thoughts. "I was not informed of your dietary restrictions. I apologize."

"Yes, well it's quite rude to order without your date present," Hannah snubbed as she picked up her glass of wine and took a slow sip. She made no attempt to hide the way she assessed him, her eyes gliding over his face and torso, as if trying to pick him apart from across the table. "Well, at least you order good wine."

Draco closed his eyes, his lips pressing together and he inhaled slowly through his nose, and held the breath for several seconds longer than necessary. He let the burn for new oxygen tingle in his lungs before he let the breath out through his mouth, forcing the tiniest smile on his lips as he looked back up to her.

Years in Pureblood society left him accustomed to the backhanded compliments and barbs thrown across dining tables and ballrooms, but it had been a number of years since he'd actually elected to participate in such activities. His life post-war was supposed to be about doing something _he_ wanted. He no longer felt pressured to follow his parents, or some outside force's rules. Look where it had gotten him in the past—literally branded a murderer and almost thrown in Azkaban. No, after the trials he'd decided that he was not going to allow anyone to make decisions for him ever again.

Which begged the question of why he'd shown up tonight. After all, this date wasn't his bloody idea. He could have simply no-showed, or feigned illness. Hell, he could have used work as an excuse. McAllister had just given him the Werewolf Territory Reparation Act to review, and Circe only knew how long _that_ nightmare was going to take to sift through. But the truth was, despite his insistence that his parents were wrong to worry, perhaps his life had fallen into a rut. Maybe, just maybe, part of him realised he was lonely, and the idea of finding someone to share his routine with wasn't be so bad.

However, that person—the elusive someone he was willing to spend actual time with–well, that person was most certainly not Hannah fucking Abbott.

"So your mother tells me you work in the Wizengamot." Hannah's nasally tone penetrated his thoughts, pulling his attention back up from his place setting to her.

"_For_ the Wizengamot. Yes."

"For them? You don't hold a seat?" Hannah questioned with a lifted brow, painted lips pursing. "Hmm… I was under the impression the Malfoys held a seat."

Draco bristled under her tone. It wasn't genuine curiosity that was driving her questions. It was fishing. She was trying to find out what resources his family had left after repaying restitutions to the Ministry. "My family's seat is very much still active. The Wizengamot does not allow for one to hold a seat and work for the Department, and seeing as I have no intention of giving up my career anytime soon, my father representing the Malfoy's interest within the courts."

"So you're actually working for them? As in taking home a cheque?" Hannah shifted in her seat so she could cross her legs at the knee, the hemline of her navy cocktail dress lifting up her thigh, exposing a bit more skin than needed in polite society.

"Generally when one works they do collect pay, yes." Draco returned with a roll of his eyes, his fingers tightening their grip on his wine glass as he lifted it up to drain the contents in one large gulp. He was going to need many more of these if he was going to make it through the main course. Gray eyes flashed across the room to the waiter and he lifted his now empty glass towards the wizard in silent indication that he would be needing a refill.

"Oh, how positively common of you." Hannah laughed, clucking her tongue. "Were those conditions following the war or do you actually enjoy it? I cannot imagine having to spend a single minute actually working for a living. No, my family's fortune is quite secure. Staying neutral during the war really was the best thing Father ever did."

"Neutral? Hannah, weren't you apart of that militia Potter created?"

"Well sure, I showed up. But do you really think I actually cared about fighting?" Hannah scoffed, waving her hand. "I only showed up because I was trying to impress Ernie. Which I'd like to point out did not work, because the wizard only had eyes for Justin. At the time I just thought them best friends, but let me tell you they did far more than share a dorm room."

Draco's hand rose, his index finger and thumb pressing against his brows as he let out a quick sigh before running his fingers through his coifed hair, trying to conceal his annoyance under the motion. "That was something I could have gone my entire life not knowing," Draco murmured.

"What?"

Gray eyes lifted back to the witch and he dropped his hand to his lap. "I said I enjoy my work. The money isn't so much an issue, but it is nice earning my own Galleons instead of relying on my family's vaults."

The waiter approached from the left, the bottle of Riesling and what Draco desperately hoped was the appetizer in hand. Excusing his presence, the waiter set down the round wooden tray containing the previously ordered charcuterie board and began to fill the glasses.

"You can leave the bottle," Draco instructed before the waiter could walk off with the wine, and he motioned to an empty spot on the table to his immediate right.

The waiter gave a small bow of his head before placing the bottle on the table. "As you wish, Mr. Malfoy."

"The bottle? Wow, are you trying to get me drunk, Draco?" Hannah laughed, lifting up her refilled glass for a sip as she wagged her brows. "I never took you for a drinker. From what Astoria had said, you hardly touched any alcohol while you were together."

Draco's eyes snapped back to Hannah at the mention of his ex's name, and all at once it felt like a rock dropped into the pit of his stomach. "You're friends with—"

"Don't be absurd, of course I'm not," Hannah said with a quick shake of her head as she wrinkled her nose at the idea. "But that doesn't mean I didn't seek her out to get a little dirt on you before our date tonight."

Draco's lips parted and just as he was about to inquire as to what type of dirt Hannah was seeking—considering she likely already knew all the bloody skeletons that lived in his closet, everyone in the bloody Wizarding World did, no thanks to his trial. But before he could get a word in edgewise, the witch continued without even so much as pausing for a breath of air.

"I wouldn't worry though, she didn't say much. She was rather tight-lipped about the whole ordeal. Told me you were a gentleman when you were together, but it had been a number of years since you two were a couple. I think my visit made her a tad uncomfortable to be honest, as she kept looking at the time and didn't eat any of the pastries I brought her."

Draco drew his eyes down to the table, as an unexplainable guilt ebbed into his soul. It had been a while since he'd last seen Astoria. He attended her and Greg's wedding, but their encounters were sparse since then—purposefully so. When news of her pregnancy broke, Draco had made a point of avoiding the witch. It wasn't that he longed to be with her anymore—quite the opposite actually. He had been almost relieved when she ended their relationship, but the guilt that came at that relief was the problem. Seeing her reminded him of what his life was supposed to be. Marriage. Babies. Happy fucking family. But he wasn't ready for that life—hell, he wasn't sure he'd _ever_ be ready for that level of commitment. All he bloody wanted was someone to come home to, not someone to be bound to for eternity.

Reaching out, he picked up a slice of goat's cheese with the little fork from the charcuterie board and he set it on a cracker before taking a bite, tuning out the chatter of the witch across the table from him who incessantly talked about nothing of great importance. Perhaps it was years of unintentional training growing up in a Pureblood home, or his Occlumancy, but Draco was able to disregard her shrill voice as he picked at the appetizer, ignoring the judgmental glares he was given as he sampled the cheeses and dried meats.

His mind drifted, thinking of work. Specifically, on how he would need to ask for Granger's assistance with his newest case. His specialty was not creature law, opting to take a background in patent law while attending his secondary school, but he could grasp the jist of what was needed. However, there were always intricacies to creature law that Granger seemed to know like the back of her hand, and with the high profile status of this Werewolf Act, he would need all the help he could get.

Perhaps he could bribe her with sweets, but she never seemed too keen on them when he'd brought them in the past, opting to snack on an apple, or other cut up fruit she brought in her purse. No, maybe an old book from his library would do the trick for her extra effort? Though, he doubted very much it was needed considering the way her eyes seemed to glaze over with excitement anytime a new Magical Creature's file appeared on her desk. Hell, when McAllister dropped of the file he could damn near see the twitch in her fingers as she eyed it with envy. But still, he would have to do something as a thank you. It was only proper—right?

"—Honestly, I can't believe you even found a job at the Ministry being a Pureblood. My cousin was only able to secure one because our grandmother was a Muggle and therefore our status as a Halfblood counts."

Draco's ears pricked up at the mention of blood status in relation to his place of employment and his eyes flashed up from the table to Hannah. The hints of blood supremacy mixed into her tone so subtly that had Draco not grown up around that type of nonsense he might never have noticed.

"Excuse me?" he interrupted, his face pinching as he peered across the table. "I don't think I follow. Are you saying that the Ministry is only hiring non-Pureblood witches and wizards?"

To her credit, Hannah did not even seem phased by his need for clarification, almost as if casual blood supremacy was socially acceptable. "Oh you haven't heard?" she questioned with evident surprise. "Yes. The Ministry is giving positions to Muggleborns, despite the fact that Pureblood witches and wizards are far more qualified. They feel like after the war they have to give these positions to them as a means to look better—more equality of some nonsense. It's actually quite the scandal. From what my mother told me, the Bulstrodes and Flints are looking into legal action."

The more she continued, the more Draco's anger seethed beneath the surface. His jaw clenched so tightly he could feel his molars crack in protest. Hannah was his bloody age. She'd been through the same war. The same heartbreak of losing classmates. They grew up in the same bloody castle, which is why it was infuriating that she could actually believe those things. Hadn't society changed? Wasn't this supposed to be the turning over of a new leaf for members of the old families? Even his own parents' opinions had changed—albeit maybe not as dramatically as his own, but they were working on it.

But no matter what he wanted to say, he knew it would make no difference. Hannah was old enough to know better, and was choosing to believe the lies bred by hate. With a quick shake of his head, Draco lifted his hand to silence her before he gestured to the waiter that lingered in the corner, motioning for the cheque. "I think we're done here, Hannah."

"What?... Oh, wait—are you a sympathizer?" Hannah let out a laugh that was far too saccharine to be anything but false. Her head tipped back, causing her blond hair to spill over the back of her chair. "I can't believe it. A Malfoy is a sympathizer, I can't wait to tell mother."

Draco bristled, his fingers clenching as he rose from the table, causing his napkin to drift from his lap to the floor. "I'm a bloody realist Hannah. Unlike you, I work for my money instead of relying on my parents. I am fortunate enough to work alongside Muggleborns, and know that none of them were giving positions simply because of their blood status. I am sure deep down within that tiny little brain of yours you can realise how utterly foolish that implication is, but perhaps the hate you spew has masked every last ounce of intelligence you have."

"Whoa, I don't _hate_ them Draco," Hannah corrected, lifting up a single finger towards him as she straightened in her chair, all signs of laughter vanished from her face. "I was simply stating that—"

"No, you clearly do," Draco interrupted. "If you are willing to spread lies about an entire population you clearly know nothing about, then you are an arbiter of hate and my parents' opinion of you was misguided. I might have been delusioned into believing such nonsense when I was younger, but as an adult I have seen the error of my ways and refuse to associate with people like you." He didn't wait for her reply, knowing full well that she would try to explain away her words, but at this point it didn't matter. He knew exactly what type of witch Hannah was, having grown up around women like her. Pretty on the outside, but underneath the layers of beauty charms and high class breeding lay someone so ugly that no potion or enchantment could fix.

Draco met the waiter halfway across the room, ignoring the shrill shriek of his name and he checked the receipt, and just when he was about to authorize the deduction from his family's vaults, a better idea came to the surface. "Please take this to Ms. Abbott. The Malfoys will not be covering the bill tonight," he instructed before fishing out a small handful of Galleons that he tucked into the waiter's palm under the assumption that Hannah would not tip the wizard once she found out Draco was refusing payment.

The waiter nodded, his fingers curling around the coin and he dipped his head in a silent thank you before stepping aside to let Draco out of the room.

Draco didn't bother giving Hannah a second glance. He wasn't going to waste a single second of his life on people like her, not after spending years believing the false claims she and those like her spouted. He moved briskly through the restaurant and only once outside in the Alley did he realise he'd been holding his breath.

With a heavy exhale, he allowed himself to take a slow deep breath of the crisp autumn air, letting its intoxicating scent fill him as he moved down the cobblestone street towards the apparition point. His right hand worried the coins in his pocket as he wove between the lingering patrons that roamed the street. Perhaps his parents were right, his life was routine and rather stagnate, but if finding change meant he needed to end up with someone like that—well then he'd much rather be alone.

* * *

**Thursday, November 6th 2008**

Sleep eluded Draco.

It could have been remaining tension from his terrible date, or the fact his mother interrogated him until nearly ten-o-clock at night regarding the whole ordeal after Hannah's mother sent a rather nasty owl demanding reimbursement for the _pathetic excuse for a date._

No matter what the real reason was, all Draco knew was his routine was thrown off, which left him more irritable than normal when he crawled out of bed at three in the morning, no longer able to keep his eyes shut.

He opted to go to the gym earlier than normal and use a bit of his extra time taking out his frustrations on a punching bag before slipping into an unusually empty office.

It was quiet—almost too quiet with Granger's absence. He'd grown used to the sound of her quill scratching furiously across parchment, and the way she would make these quick little snorts of amusement when she came across an error that she found so obvious.

Which could only explain the small tick of relief that filled his chest when he heard their office door open and the sound of her heels snap across the tiled floor.

"Oh… you're here?" Hermione said in surprise, her pace slowing to an almost stop in their entry way.

Draco lifted his eyes up from the Werewolf Act, and he set his quill across the top of his desk before he leaned back in his squeaky chair. "Of course I'm here," he replied casually. "This is my office, too."

"I didn't mean like _that_, Malfoy. I just meant, well, you're early." Hermione scoffed, her pretty brown eyes rolling towards the ceiling as she adjusted her large purse on her shoulder. "You're never in before me."

"Yes, well I was so eager to start on my work I simply couldn't stay away," Draco said with a sarcastic bite as he motioned towards the open file on his desk.

As she moved across their tiny office, he couldn't help but notice her outfit. Granger typically wore the same dresses and suits throughout the week but today – well, today she had on something new. It was a burnt orange floral dress that complimented her rather nicely, highlighting the warm glow to her skin, and making the left over freckles from the summer's sun that ran across her nose and under her eyes stand out.

He watched as she settled at her desk, her thick curls sweeping across her cheeks as she tucked her obnoxiously large purse in the bottom drawer of her desk before withdrawing an ink pot and quill set from her top drawer. As she moved to settle them in the tiny open space she left at the top corner of her desk, she paused, her brows knitting as she eyed the paper cup and bag he'd left there under a Stasis Charm nearly an hour ago.

"Is… that for me?" she questioned skeptically as she nudged papers aside to make room for her writing instruments before she picked up the cup and bag. Draco smirked in amusement as she unrolled the bag and peered inside, her eyes widening as her mouth formed that adorable little surprised 'o' she often made before splitting into a toothy grin. "Is this blueberry?"

"Yes, Granger. It's blueberry." Draco chuckled, his hand lifting to rest against his cheek as he watched her withdraw the confection, letting out an audible noise of glee. She broke off a piece, letting the crumbles litter across her messy desk as she popped it into her mouth. Her eyes closed in bliss as she chewed thoughtfully before she lifted up the paper cup and took a large draw of its contents, not bothering to check if he'd ordered it to her taste because she likely already knew that he knew her bloody drink order.

After all, they'd shared this office for two years. If she knew his by now, it only made sense he would know hers.

"Alright," she said after lowering the cup, brown eyes flashing up to him, the corner of her mouth lifting in the tiniest hint of a smirk. "Spill… what happened?"

"What do you mean?" Draco dropped his hands back to his desk, his eyes drawing away from her to look back at the open file, his fingers straightening the parchment to perfection out of habit.

"Well first off, I can literally count on my hand the number of times you've brought me tea willingly. And you've certainly never bought a scone from Erkrat's. In fact, the last time we went together, you chastised me for _purchasing something so frivolously expensive_," she said, her face pulling into an expression that he assumed was supposed to be reminiscent of his own. Instead she just looked like she smelled something foul.

"I can take it back if you'd like," Draco said as he reached across his table for the scone, but just as his fingertips crossed the threshold of her desk, Hermione reached out and quickly pulled the bag closer to the edge of the desk.

"No!" she said quickly, eyes widening. "Now, let's not do anything too hasty! I was simply stating that it's clear something caused this random act of kindness." Scooting back in her chair, Hermione eyed his outstretched hand cautiously as she lifted the scone to take another nibble, the crumbles dribbling across the front of her dress.

Draco's tongue pressed against the inside of his check as he laughed, dropping his hand to his desk before he leaned back in his chair. Did she really know him so well by now she could sense when he was perturbed? Or was it that he was such an arse most days that these little blips of thoughtfulness were seen as grand gestures? "I just had a bad night. Couldn't sleep and since I came in early, I figured you might want some tea and a scone for breakfast rather than those crackers in your bottom drawer that you normally eat."

Hermione nodded, eyes softening on him as she broke off another corner of the scone. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Granger, trust me when I say you don't want to know."

Hermione's brows perked in curiosity and she scooted her chair a fraction of an inch closer to the desk, brown eyes sparkling in the artificial light with a growing curiosity he'd come to associate with the inquisitive witch. "Oh, but I do."

Draco pressed his lips together as he inhaled through his nose, letting the long draw of his breath will the lingering silence between them. It wasn't until she whined his name, that he gave in with a sigh. "I went on a date."

"A date?" Hermione's fingers paused in front of her lips, a small section of scone held precariously between her index finger and thumb as her brows lifted. "_You_ went on a date?"

"Unfortunately."

"And it wasn't good?"

"What on earth gave you that impression?" Draco scooted closer to his desk, tucking his long legs underneath the wooden surface as he closed the manila folder on his desk. It didn't appear as if he was going to finish the review anytime soon with Granger's interrogation, and truth be told, he was hitting a wall when it came to the legal ramifications of giving land back to the Werewolf packs of England.

"Was it with anyone I know?" Hermione pressed, setting her pastry and tea down on her desk and she brushed the crumbs from her lap before scooting even closer, her feet settling beside his underneath their desks.

"Uh…possibly." Draco glanced at her through his lashes, and watched her face twitch as she waited for a name, her head cocking just slightly. "Hannah Abbott."

"_You_ went on a date with _Hannah Abbott_?" Hermione's mouth dropped open, her eyes light and for a moment he thought she might actually pass out from shock. Of course, that idea seemed rather ridiculous seconds later when the melodic sound of her laughter filled their office. "Holy shite. I can't believe you actually went on a date, and with Hannah of all people!"

"Laugh it up Granger," Draco murmured as he thrust the file in his desk drawer. He began to thumb through his work as his mouth pulled into a scowl. "I'm bloody human, I go on dates. Is it really that absurd to assume I don't want to be alone?"

"Oh Malfoy, no." Hermione tsked as her laughter settled. "No, I'm not laughing because—it's just—Hannah, really? I just… she's your type?"

"Gods no! She's absolutely atrocious. My parents arranged it." Draco wrinkled his nose as he gave a quick shake of his head, eyes lifting from his drawer towards her once more. "It was our first – and last – date."

"Well, that makes sense." Hermione looked down at her half eaten scone, her lips pursing in thought. She summoned the roll of paper towels they'd taken from the canteen that sat upon the file cabinet in the corner. Unrolling a small square, she tore it from the roll before carefully wrapping up her left overs and she set it on the top corner of her desk. "Well, if it makes any bit of difference, she's an absolutely bore… and rather grating."

"Oh, I'm aware," Draco breathed as he slid his desk drawer shut. "She was fifteen minutes late and then complained about what I ordered as a starter."

Hermione snorted, her eyes rolling. "If she had a preference, then she should have shown up on time."

"I know!" Draco laughed, his lips lifting in a small smile. "Did you know she is a—oh what's that Muggle term? Where they don't eat anything from animals."

"Vegetarian?" Hermione questioned.

"No, the other one," Draco rolled his hand in the air, snapping as he tried to find the word that seemed to sit right on the tip of his tongue. "No meat, but no dairy either."

"Hannah's vegan?!"

"Yes! That's it. Vegan. She's vegan! I'm not even certain any of the restaurants in the Alley can actually accommodate that type of diet, so she just drank wine and glared at me until I walked out." Draco leaned back in his chair, his hands folding over his stomach casually so his fingertips rested along the small buttons of his Oxford.

"Wait a moment, you walked out on your date? Oh Merlin, this keeps getting better." Hermione laughed as she tucked fallen curls behind her ear. "You have to tell me everything. It's been ages since I've been on a date—let alone a bad one."

"There really isn't much to tell. She's a bigot and was gobsmacked when I called her out on some rather archaic opinions regarding the Ministry and Muggleborns, so I left her to pay the bill. Figured she could afford to cover the bottle of wine and appetizer with all that family money she liked to bring up," he explained with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

"Oh what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when she figured out you left her the tab." Hermione giggled, her hand lifting to touch her bottom lip as her smile spread wide across her cheeks.

Draco's eyes were instantly drawn toward her face, watching it come alive as she laughed at his expense. Once upon a time, he might have been offended and demanded she apologize. But time had worn down the snap happy young boy he'd once been, and a calm filled the raging fires within him. "You can owl her if you'd like. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you—being a war hero and all."

"I'd rather not," Hermione smirked as she pulled open her own desk drawer and began to sift through her files. "Not when I can just bug you for the details. You're far less annoying—but only slightly."

"Is that a compliment, Granger?" Draco teased. "You'd better be careful tossing those about so carelessly. Someone might think you actually enjoy my company."

"Someone? Like who, my office plant or your left shoe? Because unless the Wizengamot decides to give us a real office instead of this broom closet, then I think I'm safe to shower you with as many backhanded compliments as I can without fear of being overheard." Hermione tossed a thick file on her desk, the smacking sound pulling his attention away from admiring her smile and back to reality. While yes, this banter they had was fun, it was all a means to an end; a way to fill their day with something other than silence.

"Speaking of the Wizengamot… would you be open to helping me look over that assignment McAllister left me?"

"The Werewolf Act?!" As cool as she tried to keep her tone, Draco noticed the sparkle of excitement in her eye as she looked up at him through her lashes. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips before she gave a shrug. "I mean, if you're stuck I supposed I wouldn't mind helping… since you're so nice and brought me breakfast."

"After lunch, okay?"

Hermione nodded, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she looked back down to her file, trying her best to hide her eagerness.

They worked in silence for several minutes, only the sound of their quills scratching and the occasional rustle of parchment filling the room, and as morning drew closure to lunch, Draco found himself peering up from his work to cast fleeting glances at Hermione, admiring the way her quill moved across the paper with a comfortable ease as she edited the first draft of some upcoming legislation.

"Draco?"

His eyes widened infinitesimally and he quickly looked back at his work, praying she didn't notice his stare. "Hrm?"

"Thank you for my breakfast," she said as she dipped her quill in her ink pot before tapping the metal tip against the class precisely three times, like always. "And sorry for laughing about your bad date."

"It's okay, and you're welcome," he said with a small wave of his hand, not daring to lift his eyes toward her again. "Don't get used to it though. I think that's the last date I'll be going on for a while."

Her quiet laughter filled the room once more, and even though he wasn't looking, he knew exactly the way the corner of her eyes crinkled with her smile. "Well, too late. You've spoiled me now. I expect a scone and tea waiting for me every Thursday."

Draco hesitated, his teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek, debating if he could steal another glance without her noticing. Opting to try, he lifted his eyes and was surprised to find her looking directly at him, her cheeks tinting pink when their eyes met and Draco told himself it was nothing—simply a flush from her laughter. His grip tightened on his quill as he returned a grin, his spine straightening as he rolled his shoulders back, trying to play off the glance as a means of stretching. "Yeah? Well, we'll see."

Hermione shook her head as she set her quill down, the black ink splotching across her paper desk calendar. Brown eyes drifted to the corner of the room where their office clock hung on the wall, and she let out a quick breath. "So, it's lunch time. Can I have that file now?" She questioned, brown eyes flashing back to him.

Draco fought back a laugh as he shook his head. Opening his desk drawer, he withdrew the thick folder, and from the corner of his eye he could see her practically bounce in her seat with anticipation before he held it out for her to take. Their fingers brushed as she curled her hand around the file, and the simple touch sent a jolt of electricity running from his fingertips straight to his heart. He gulped down the quickly forming lump in his throat before clearing his throat. "Granger?"

"Yeah?"

"Just make sure you eat something for lunch instead of going over my revisions all afternoon, okay? Just because I brought you breakfast doesn't mean you don't have to eat lunch." He stipulated, not yet releasing the folder into her hands.

A slow smile spread across her face and she let out a short laugh. "Of course." She said but when she tugged on the file, and he still didn't let go, she let out a little humph of annoyance, the puff of air pushing the fallen curls from her forehead. "I promise! Okay? Just let me have it."

"Alright." Draco released the file, watching as she eagerly set it on her desk, her fingers flexing in anticipation. He really ought to excuse himself for lunch as well, but watching her dig into what he viewed as mind-numbing drivel with such rabid enthusiasm sounded like a better use of his time. Besides, someone needed to remind her to eat. And with him being the only other inhabitant in their office, that duty obviously fell into his lap.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thursday, November 20, 2008**

Two weeks. It'd been two glorious weeks since his date with Hannah. Two weeks of not being bothered by his parents, who had taken to avoiding him. Two weeks without pestering small talk from his mother, or crisp words from his father. Two weeks where he wasn't having to justify being nearly thirty and single. Two weeks of bliss.

But that was obviously changing.

"Look, mate. All I'm saying is that you're in the prime of your life and you're wasting it away," Blaise said as he lifted a hand, signaling to the barmaid for another round.

"Prime of my life? I'm not even thirty yet. My grandfather lived well into his two hundreds." Draco murmured into the rim of his bottle of ale before tipping it back. Thursdays were days he typically looked forward to. Thursdays meant drinks with Theo and Blaise. Typically they'd catch a Quidditch match on the telly, eat some pub faire and enjoy several rounds of ale before they called it an evening and Flooed home. It was his small break during the week.

But not this week. This Thursday his supposed friends were pressing an issue he had hoped died two weeks prior.

"Your grandfather was married by your age." Theo cast a sidelong look at him before he turned to accept his fresh bottle from the barmaid, flashing the witch a charming smile.

Draco's eyes rolled before he could prevent it, and he reached out to take the awaiting beer from the witch. "Where is this coming from, anyways? Since when do either of you have a sudden interest in my bloody love life?" Draco growled as he slid two Galleons across the wet bartop, before glancing over towards his friend—who were giving each other conspiratorial glances as they took hasty pulls from their freshly purchased round, .

Like a puzzle piece sliding into the right slot, everything suddenly clicked together.

His mother.

His fucking mother got to them.

"You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me," Draco swore as he leaned his elbows into the bar so he could capture his face in his hands. The condensation that clung to his palms spread across his face as he pressed the pads of his fingers into his eyes until white stars burst behind his lids.

"Oh, come on Draco," Theo sighed.

Draco felt a hand on his shoulder, jostling him a bit in an attempt to make him look up, but there was no bloody way he could look at them now. Not when his mother fucking went to them and expressed actual concern over something so trivial.

"You can ignore your parents, but don't shut us out, mate. We just want to help," Blaise added, his fingers rapping on the bar top in some feeble attempt to make Draco look up.

"My love life is literally none of your concern," Draco snapped as he dropped his hands, blurry vision slowly returning to normal as looked down at the frosty bottle of ale in front of him. He was going to need something much stronger than Boddington's if he was going to actually have this conversation. Blaise and Theo were supposed to be friends! They were supposed to have his back—supposed to agree that his parents were over reaching, not fucking join in on this senseless crusade.

"Yeah? Well, apparently it's not any of your concern either, because you don't have one," Blaise murmured. When Draco shot him a hard look, the wizard's interest in the label on his beer bottle suddenly grew.

"When was the last time you even got laid, Draco?" Theo pressed, swirling his bottle around so the ale splashed around the inside of the bottle before he took a long pull.

Draco, who had been mid-drink, felt his throat contract at the blunt question, causing beer to sputter across the bar. "I'm _not_ answering that," he managed through the lingering fit of coughs that spasmed in his throat.

"I'm serious, Draco. How long has it been?" Theo cocked a brow expectantly at him. "Two months?" Silence. "Four months?" Silence. "Oh shite, it's been a year, hasn't it?"

It was Draco's turn to grow interested in the soggy label on his bottle. Gray eyes bore down into the amber glass as he ran his thumb nail across the corner of the paper, peeling it away from the bottle. After he and Astoria fell apart, his interest in finding a witch to grace his bed for the night hadn't exactly been high on his priority list. How exactly would he go about picking up a witch anyways? _Oh yeah, come home with me. I still live with my folks, but don't worry. Mother doesn't typically come to my wing unannounced._ Even he could realise how utterly terrible it all sounded.

No, it hadn't been worth it to put in the effort to have casual shags with forgettable witches. So by the time months turned to a year, and a year into multiple, he found himself so far removed from the actual _act_ that he really didn't miss it anymore—well, most days he didn't.

"Salazar's sack, it's been longer than a year, hasn't it?" Blaise croaked as he lifted his hand to his forehead, fingers kneading his brow with a wince.

"It's been a while, okay?" Draco lifted his hand, waving the barmaid down toward him with two fingers as he tipped back the remainder of his beer.

"Another round, lads?" the pretty redhead crooned on her approach, flashing a toothy grin at the trio.

"Yes. But something a bit stronger for me this time, Verenea," Draco responded, his lips lifting as he set his empty bottle on the edge of the bar for her to snag. Leaning back in his chair, his right hand rose to card through his fringe, brushing the short locks back on his head.

"Mead?"

"Fire Whiskey."

The redhead's eyes flickered toward Theo and Blaise, as if double checking to make sure they were responsible for him in case anything got out of hand before she gave a quick nod of her head and moved to fill the order.

"Look, Draco. We've been friends for ages—" Blaise began.

"Since fourth year," Draco corrected, glancing at the wizard out of the corner of his eye before he nodded a thank you to Verenea's when she set a tumbler in front of him. "And hardly then. I didn't start actually enjoying your company until about nine years ago."

Blaise's mouth hung open, his face contorting between shock and being impressed by Draco's bitter honesty. "Seriously? You're really going to just fall back on the whole arsehole bit because we're trying to help you out?"

Draco let out a long suffering sigh, his hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose. Blaise and Theo were all he had left from his old life, the last few who remembered where he came from—what he pulled himself up from. They stood by him while his life recovered, and helped him through the fall out of his breakup. They were the last two people on the planet he needed to be rude towards, but fuck if it wasn't so bloody hard.

Why was everyone suddenly interested in his personal life? Wasn't it enough to just be friends with someone anymore? To enjoy a few drinks once or twice a week, bitch about work and then go back to your respective homes at the end of the night.

"I'm sorry," Draco bit out, dropping his hand from his face he angled himself on the barstool to face his friend, elbow resting casually on the bar top. "I just don't understand why this is such a big deal suddenly."

"It's not really sudden, Draco." Theo was the first to speak, his shoulders lifting and falling in a less than sympathetic shrug. "You've been single for a bit now, and while that's not means for concern, it the fact you don't bloody do anything. Look, I'm going to be honest with you, so please don't take this the wrong way—"

"Great," Draco breathed.

"—but you need to get a bloody life outside meeting up for drinks," Theo deadpanned, his finger running around the narrow rim of his beer bottle. "Tracy's weeks away from giving birth, and Blaise is likely going to be marching down the aisle soon if Gabi has anything to say about it."

"Doubtful. I'm a bachelor for life," Blaise declared, lifting up his drink in a mock salute.

"Anyways, my point is, maybe your mum doesn't have such a bad idea—setting you up with witches. I'm sure you think it's not her place—"

"It's not."

"—_but_ maybe it's ours."

Draco cocked a single brow, the rhythm his fingers had been drumming on the bar top ceased and his eyes flickered between his friends as his face fell. They couldn't be—no. There was no bloody way they were trying to set him up on a—

"Which is why I've already set up your next date." Blaise's face split into a shite eating grin that made him want nothing more than to reach over the top of Theo and strangle him.

"No." Draco shook his head, his lips thinning and he could feel the tension that had previously resided in his chest begin to invade. "Abso-fucking-lutely not."

"Draco, my friend, have I ever steered you wrong?" Blaise tipped his beer toward Draco with raised brows before he took a drink far too smugly for a wizard that was already walking on thin ice as far as he was concerned.

"Actually Blaise—" Theo began with a small grimace before turning towards his friend, his hand making a sweeping motion under his chin to indicate he should not continue.

"All the bloody time!" Draco shook his head, the muscle that ran the length of his jaw flexing as he lifted his tumbler of whiskey to his lips.

"What? No way, name one damn time!"

"The house party in Naples where we almost got arrested," Draco began, lifting up his fingers as he began to list off numerous instances where Blaise most certain led them astray. "Or how about the time you thought you could drive a Muggle car? _Or_ the time you brought those models to Theo's birthday party and they stole his father's good crystal."

"Okay, okay, okay!" Blaise blanched, waving his hand in front of his face as if to bat away Draco's words. "Name one time I steered you wrong _with women_."

"You told me to date Pansy during sixth year."

"What? No I didn't," Blaise scoffed.

Theo eyes rolled toward the ceiling, his face pinching in thought before he gave a slow nod. "Actually, I think you did, Blaise."

"No, I did not! I would never tell anyone to actually date that ice queen. I distinctly remember telling you to shag her, not date her." Blaise lifted his bottle, taking another large pull from it before he set it on the bar in front of him before twisting to face his friends. "But this is absolutely irrelevant—"

"No, it's really not," Draco mumbled into his tumbler, his lips brushing across the glass.

"—because I've already arranged the date. It's this Saturday at Nebula's."

"Blaise," Draco replied with a distinct tightness to his voice, his tumbler clinking as he let it drop back to the bar top and he kneaded his fingers across his forehead before smoothing his hair back once again. "I'm really not interested in going on a date with some random witch."

"Well, lucky you she isn't some random witch! You've met her before and she works for Gabi at the new restaurant," Blaise said and air of triumph that only succeeded in casting further doubt in Draco's mind. "I think you'll really like her."

"We don't exactly like the same type of witch, Blaise," Draco pointed out. "Don't get me wrong, Gabi is lovely, but she is quite possibly the only witch you've ever dated I don't disdain."

"Draco… Drake… Trust me, okay? Worst case scenario you go on a date—maybe get a quick shag and move on, right?" Blaise said with a small shrug. "Sounds like a win-win situation no matter what way you slice it."

Draco wasn't sure he'd consider a casual shag with some witch who Blaise associated with a win—at least not for him. Gray eyes flickered over to Theo, who had remained silent during the whole exchange and he lifted a brow in a silent question.

Theo ran his tongue across his bottom lip, hazel eyes glancing between his friends before he let out a slow breath. "Maybe just… bring protection and brush up on your STI prevention charms just in case."

Draco snorted, his hand going up to cup his brow as he placed his elbows back on the bar top, laughter bubbling up his throat as the realisation that he was not going to get out of this date settled in. It had been nearly ten years since the war, and so much of his life had changed.

He had a good job. He was making decent money and found himself content with his life. Yet, clearly, the people he allowed into his inner circle still felt it necessary to meddle. He should be happy, knowing his friends and family were that concerned, but he couldn't help but wonder if this was all for nothing.

Maybe, just maybe, he was supposed to be alone.

Maybe he was so content with his life the way it was, because that's exactly how he was supposed to end up.

Part of the Ministry workforce, toiling his days away at a desk opposite Granger.

* * *

**Saturday, November 22, 2008**

The music was loud.

No, loud didn't even begin to cover the way the steady thump of the bass from the speakers pulsed through his chest, rattling the air inside his lungs.

Draco hated clubs. He hated the crowds. The way everything was sticky to the touch. The way people gyrated on the dance floor as if no one would see exactly what they were doing. But what he hated most—more than anything else in the bloody world–was sloppy drunks.

Which Nebula seemed to have in spades.

"You know, when Blaise mentioned wanting to set us up, I was a little hesitant," Lavender screamed over the music, a hand cupped around her painted lips as if attempting to direct the sound.

"Huh?" Draco's brow furrowed as he leaned in a fraction of an inch, careful to keep a respectable distance away from the witch—lest anyone actually assume he was enjoying being here with her.

The moment he met her outside of the club, he knew his night was not going to go well. Why Blaise thought to set him up with Lavender—_I'm obnoxious, even when I breathe_—Brown was beyond him. Draco wasn't even bloody aware he associated with the witch up until she sauntered up to him wearing the scrap of red cloth masquerading as a dress and greeted him with a smothering hug and kiss.

He was so caught off guard at the invasion of his personal space that he'd stumbled back against the dirt covered brick wall that lined the building, staining the back of his cream Oxford with the city's filth.

"I'm rather glad I accepted. You're especially fit now that you're older. Less pointy, more… chiseled."

Draco nodded slowly, thick lines creasing his forehead as he tried to make sense of the garbled words. Had she asked for the loo? How the hell was he supposed to know where it was, this was the first bloody time he'd set foot in this fucking club. Straightening his spine, Draco looked around the room, trying to find neon sign that might indicate where the restrooms where.

"I think it's over there," Draco shouted, motioning toward the far end of the club, past the massive orgy of bodies that lingered on the dance floor.

Lavender's head cocked to the side, her sandy blonde curls spilling across her shoulders. "You want to dance? Why didn't you just say so!" She laughed, her face breaking into a wide smile as she tipped back the remainder of the fruity drink she'd had him purchase from the bar before her hand curled into the front of his Oxford and she tugged him onto the dance floor.

Draco stumbled after her, his pint spilling across his hand and soaking into his sleeve as he struggled to keep up with the witch who had far too much agility in a pair of five inch heels. Cursing as he shouldered into other patrons, Draco was pulled into the throng of moving bodies and before he could figure out what the bloody hell Lavender was doing taking him to the loo with her, her hips were pressing into his with the force of a freight train.

"What the fuck!?" Draco's eyes widened and he tried to double back away from the assault, but only succeeded in spilling his entire pint down the back of a witch beside him. "What are you—"

His words were cut off as Lavender mistook his shock for playing coy and pressed her lips against his. Draco's entire body went rigid, his arms stretched out, afraid to so much as touch her as his brain tried to catch up to what his body was feeling.

Her nails clawed lightly at the skin on the center of his chest, sending a sharp jolt of pain firing through his nerves. The glass he'd held slipped from his fingers, rattling across the dance floor, bouncing between feet as his hands wrapped around Lavender's biceps tightly. This was too much. Much too much! He needed out. He needed to get away from Lavender, and the wizard who kept bumping into him from behind, and the talkative bartender who'd asked him seven times if he was sure he _only_ wanted a beer, and the music. Merlin, he needed to get away from the fucking music so he could just think clearly for one minute.

Just as something wet and warm invaded his mouth, Draco pushed Lavender away, his lips pulled up in a very characteristic Malfoy sneer that he had not worn in many years. He watched dumbfounded as Lavender's head tipped back with a laugh, her index finger trailing across the little round buttons that held his shirt together as she swayed to the music.

"Playing hard to get?" She shouted over the steady beat, only this time she was so close he could hear every word she spoke. "I like a bit of a challenge."

Well, then, she'd fucking love it when he left.

Draco's hand dropped from her arms, as if the touch of her skin burned his palms and a forced laugh bubbled up his throat as he took a half step back from the witch. "I… I need a new drink!" he lied, gray eyes flashing towards the packed bar before back to the witch.

"Oh! Be a doll and get me another Hag's Kiss, would you?"

Draco gave a curt nod. He would have agreed to just about anything at this point if it meant getting the fuck away from her grabby hands and overly enthusiastic tongue. Just as his body began to turn towards the bar, his escape in sight, he felt her hand tighten on his shirt once more and she began to yank him towards her.

It was as if the world was moving in slow motion. The colourful flashing lights danced a rainbow of hues across her face as she leaned in, her eyes closed and lips puckered. Draco could feel bile rising in his stomach, churning and twisting as her overly glossed lips approached his and he quickly turned his head to the side so she planted a sticky kiss against his cheek.

With a gentle twist, Draco moved out from under Lavender's grasp and his lips lifted in a weak attempt at a smile as he backed away from her as quickly as his feet would allow. He bumped shoulders with couples during his hasty exit from the dance floor, collecting sweat, alcohol and what he could only imagine were other bodily fluids on his once pristine Oxford as he wove through the crowd. Mentally, he prepared to burn the shirt the moment he Apparated home—there was no bloody way he would ever feel comfortable wearing it again.

His ears rang as he drew closer to the speakers, the heavy beat in time with his step as he pushed through the crowd and as he grew close to the bar, he gave one last glance over his shoulder to make sure his _date_ was hidden in the crowd before he turned toward the exit.

His pulse quickened the closer he got to freedom, his fingers around his wand in his pocket as he pushed past the bouncer, lifting his free hand to signal he didn't want—nor need–the customary hand stamp that would allow him back into the club.

No, Draco had no bloody intention to return to Nebula ever again, and especially not with the far too handsy date Blaise arranged for him inside.

As he stepped into the crisp night's air, Draco only had one goal in mind.

He needed to go home.

He needed to scrub the entire first layer of skin off his body in the shower, and then, once he was sanitized, he had every intention of going to Blaise's and strangling him. If Gabi by some means managed to keep her boyfriend alive, Draco would ask him what the bloody hell he thought he was doing by setting him up with the only witch in the entire world Draco might have absolutely nothing in common with.


	4. Chapter 4

**Monday, November 24, 2008**

Most people hated Mondays.

They complained about the start of the work week in the lifts on the way to their respective floors, making small talk with coworkers from different departments they likely didn't know the names of. '_Ugh…Monday—again.' 'I know. I hope it goes by quickly'._

But most people weren't Draco.

Draco lived for that Monday morning feeling. It was the start of a new week. The beginning to his routine. Mondays meant he knew precisely what to expect. And after the weekend he'd had, he was looking forward to walking into his office, seeing Granger—like he always did—and enjoying the monotony of a typical Monday morning.

He woke up before his alarm, and instead of lounging for the extra thirty minutes like he typically would have done, he opted to rise for the day and get an early start into the office.

Dressed, fed, exercised, and into the office he went. Nothing was out of order or went wrong. In fact, his favourite machine in the Ministry gym had even been available at the earlier hour, which made him debate adjusting his schedule permanently just so he didn't have to use the treadmill with the worn belt on cardio days.

By the time he made it to his office, an unexplainable happiness filled him. He could attribute it to a lot of things—his pleasant start to the day, the fact he did not have to share the first meal of the week with his parents, or that he was able to purchase his and Granger's morning teas and blueberry scone without having to wait in a stupidly long queue. None of them, though, would explain why he was actually looking forward to seeing his bushy haired office-mate.

Draco actually wanted to talk to her about his hellish date, get her take on the whole Lavender Brown debacle and perhaps laugh off how bloody stupid Blaise had been for setting them up. After over a decade of friendship he would have thought the wizard knew him better. Hell, he had only actually been friendly with Granger for two years and he was certain the witch would have _never_ set him up with someone like Lavender. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe she was a better friend than the two he'd chosen.

Reaching his office, Draco paused to straighten his navy and white gingham Oxford, making sure his tie was secure at the base of his throat and his hair was in place. His hand fell to the door handle and with a quick twist, he pushed his way into the office with every intention of greeting his ever present officemate.

But the friendly hello died on his tongue even before he could form the words.

Instead of seeing the curly haired swot, he saw nothing, the room still shrouded in darkness.

His body remained paused in the doorway as he peered into their shared space, deep lines of confusion burrowing their way across his forehead as his brain tried to assess the change.

Granger wasn't here.

Granger was _always_ here.

Hell, last winter he had to send her home after he arrived to find her red-nosed and wheezing from the nasty bout of crup-croup.

Her absence meant she was either dead—which would be rather unfortunate as he'd have to acclimate to a new office mate–or something else was seriously wrong.

He moved slowly into the office, securing Granger's cup of tea in the crook of his elbow before he withdrew his wand and ignited the flameless lamps that hung against the far wall, edging his way around their desks.

He surveyed the tiny room with genuine curiosity as to what might have happened to her, and was only slightly relieved to find evidence of her already having been here this morning. Her inkwell and quill sat on her desk in its usual spot, and a hideous gray cardigan she kept in her drawer for those chilly fall mornings was haphazardly draped over the back of her chair.

Draco set the scone and cup on her desk, careful to select a spot less cluttered than the rest before he removed his messenger bag and settled into his seat. He sipped on his Earl Grey, eyes flickering between the clock and Granger's empty desk for several moments as the possibility of where the witch might be rove through his mind.

Maybe she went down to the basement to look through the annex. It would make sense, after all, she'd been helping him with that Werewolf Act in addition to the Billywig Sting Tariff proposal. Or perhaps she was down at Erkrat's picking up her own tea, which would be rather awkward when she came in to see he'd already picked up a cup for her.

After deciding that Granger wasn't in any immediate mortal danger—though to be fair, the witch did have a history of such proclivities, so it wasn't too far-fetched jumping to this immediate conclusion–Draco opted to busy himself with looking over the new case files that laid in his basket. She was technically already at work, based on her things being strewn about, and she was a grown woman, who was more than capable of taking care of herself.

But as the minutes ticked by, Draco grew more and more anxious at the lack of her presence. He missed the tapping of her quill on the ink pot, and the regular shuffle of parchment. Granger had unknowingly become the ambient noise to his day and without it he was finding it rather difficult to get any work done.

After rereading the same bloody passage for the fourth time and still not comprehending what the hell McAllister was trying to convey, he let out an agitated sigh and pushed back from his desk. His fingers drummed on the arms of his chair as he pursed his lips and eyed the witch's desk.

It'd only been fifteen minutes by his calculations, but as far as he was concerned, it felt like an eternity.

"She's clearly stuck," Draco said aloud, as if trying to convince himself—or maybe Granger's office plant—that what he was about to do was not absurd. It was his duty as her coworker and friend to help her. He pushed up from the chair, his fingers quickly working his cuffs open and he rolled his sleeves up in preparation for Merlin only knew what—a hunt around the Ministry trying to find the swot, or maybe the task of helping her with boxes if she was in the annex.

Just as he turned, prepared to walk down to the basement in search of his office companion, the office door opened, smacking loudly against the wall as Granger sauntered in with a folder open, her head down as she sifted through the paperwork.

Draco froze, eyes tracking her movements as she tossed a mauve gym bag into her corner of the room and settled in her office chair. Her mane of curls were loosely pulled back, a few stray strands drifting across her cheek and even from his distance Draco could tell her hair was damp.

Her skin was flushed, the apples of her cheeks coloured to a surprisingly pretty pink, and the normal floral perfume she wore was replaced by a citrus-y scent that did funny things to his stomach.

He should say something, let her know he was in the room, since she was obviously too engrossed in whatever file to notice his presence, but part of him wanted to stay silent and watch her work. Her could see her eyes move across the page, her keen interest in what she was absorbed in so easily read on her face as her brows lifted and fell with each line of text.

It was only when he lowered himself, his hands curled around the hard wooden arms of his chair that Granger finally did look up from her work.

"Ahh!"

The feminine scream jolted Draco right back out of his seat, his knee crashing into the top of his desk and he swore loudly as he stumbled back. "Merlin's cock! What the bloody hell is wrong?!"

"Sorry!" Hermione's hands rose to her chest, her fingertips grazing her throat as she took deep breaths. "Sorry! I just… I didn't notice you when I walked in."

"Well here's an idea—" Draco began as he lowered himself back into his chair, his hand rubbing small circles over his kneecap in a feeble attempt to ebb away the pain. "If you looked up instead of reviewing files when you walk, you might notice some things."

"What are you even doing here this early?" Hermione tossed a hand towards their clock. "I don't typically see you for another forty minutes."

"Don't blame me for this! You were preoccupied. Besides, there's no rule against being early to your shift. Just being _late_," he said before picking up his cup of tea to take a drink. For some unexplainable reason he felt more at ease now that she had returned.

"I wasn't late, thank you very much. I was just taking a break," Hermione retorted with a roll of her eyes.

"A very early break."

"Clearly. Not that it's any of your business, but I've begun using the Ministry's gym," Hermione said as she reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. Shifting in her seat, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and withdrew a pair of black pumps and set them on her desk before she bent over to remove the trainers currently wore.

Granger was working out? The witch who complained about walking three flights up to the Department of Magical Permitting? The witch who literally asked him last week to open one of those travel sized jars of jam? His brows rose in shock and before he could prevent himself from his inquiry, the question slipped from his tongue. "Why?"

Hermione glanced up, her brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"Why are you working out?" Draco pressed, his nail scratching idly at the side of his cup. "You don't need to."

Hermione's lips split into that breath stealing grin she often flashed his way and she pulled the pumps from her desk one by one, sliding them onto her feet beneath her desk. "Well, my hips and thighs would highly disagree with you, but thank you for the compliment, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes dropped to his desk, widening infinitesimally as he realised his error. He might as well have told Granger she was fit! Merlin only knew what kind of trouble he could be in for that if word got out that he'd said such a thing at work. Clearing his throat, Draco decided it best to not address his compliment. Instead, he set down his cup and began to pull out his files for the day.

"Oh! You got me tea… and a scone," Hermione said, her voice lifting with surprise after several moments of silence.

Draco watched through lowered lashes as she pulled the blueberry scone—her favourite–from the bag and began to break it into bite-sized pieces the way she favoured, using the bag as a plate of sorts.

"You know I was joking when I said I expected this weekly?" Hermione questioned before popping a piece of pastry into her mouth, her eyes closing in the temporary bliss of her first bite.

"I'm aware I'm not obligated to purchase you tea and scones," Draco replied, his tone a bit crisper than intended and he paused his movement, his hands settling over the file on his desk as he cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "I don't mind though. I wanted to."

"Well, thank you for the breakfast and the compliment." Hermione's lips quirked up at him before she opened the file she had been looking through when she entered the office.

"You're welcome."

Draco let silence overtake their conversation as they both began to busy themselves with their work. He was finally able to focus now that Granger was back. The occasional scratching of her quill across parchment, and the sound of her shifting in her squeaky office chair provided an almost calming effect as he worked through his own file.

His teeth worried his bottom lip, chewing thoughtfully on it as his eyes scanned the text, but movement caught his eye and he looked across his desk at Granger as she adjusted the buttons on her blouse, the seemingly innocent gesture drawing his eyes to her neck. He watched in silence through thick lashes as she dragged her nails across the lean muscles, scratching at an itch, completely unaware of his eyes on her.

She really was rather fit. But not overly so, like those witches who worked out beside him in the morning. No Granger was the perfect sort of witch. She was lean, but not boney. She had evident curves without them being too much. He could imagine the subtle feeling of her shape beneath his palms-just the right amount to hold on to while she would still feel small beneath his touch.

And just as quickly as his mind wandered to thoughts of Granger's womanly shape, he realised how vastly inappropriate those thoughts were. A slight blush bloomed on his cheeks as he dragged his eyes down to the parchment before him and his fingers curled around the edge of the file nervously.

Thank Merlin she wasn't a bloody Legilimens or he would have a lot of explaining to do.

He actually had a lot of explaining to do regardless! Why his thoughts were suddenly drifting into inappropriate categories when looking at the witch was unexplainable. They had been bloody office mates for two years—never mind their history prior to working alongside one another— and not once had he ever thought of her in such a manner. No, this was entirely new territory that he could only reasonably explain away as a product of his parents' and friends' intrusive interest in his love life.

With a quick shake of his head, as if the act would help physically clear his mind, Draco laid down his quill and he habitually reached up to adjust the knot in his tie. "You know, Granger," he spoke up, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. "I work out, too."

Because clearly talk of working out would bloody help him forget thinking about Granger in those tight little workout trousers witches tended to wear.

Hermione glanced up, a stray ringlet bouncing across her forehead as her head lifted just enough for her eyes to meet his. "I am aware, yes."

"If you're looking for a partner-to work out with that is, we could together… if you want," Draco offered, internally cursing himself for the awkward delivery. His offer was purely innocent. She was accident prone, and without proper instruction who knows what she might be capable of injuring. It had nothing at all to do with his recent inexplicable desire to spend more time around the witch.

"Oh? Yeah, that would be great, actually," Hermione said with a small shrug, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. "You wouldn't mind changing your schedule?"

"Not at all," Draco added a bit too quickly, trying his best to keep his eagerness to a dull roar as his heartbeat increased its tempo at her acceptance of his offer for help. "After all, what are friends for?"

"Right." Hermione's smile brightened until it danced in her eyes. "Friends," she agreed with a final nod before she returned to marking up the parchment. And although Draco could not be certain, there seemed to be an extra flourish to her quill, which only succeeded in making that strange feeling in his stomach return.

"Wait, she _kissed_ you?!"

"Shh!" Draco quickly looked around the canteen, making sure Hermione's voice did not carry over to the surrounding tables. "Merlin, keep it down," he scolded as he looked back at the witch who was literally fighting to keep giggles from erupting out of her. "But yes, she kissed me—technically, she tried to snog me."

"Like… tongue and everything?"

"Is there any other way to snog?" Draco questioned, his face blank to leave little doubt in her mind that he did not enjoy Lavender's tongue-pilfering assault from Saturday evening. Reaching out to the plate of chips that sat between them, he picked up one wedge and chewed on it as the witch burst into another fit of giggles.

"I'm sorry, it's not funny," she managed through laughter, her fingers swiping under her eyes. "I know it's _not_ funny, but… Circe, she actually kissed you. She's either as dumb as a flobberworm or is very brave."

"I am going to say it's entirely the first," Draco said as he leaned forward to press his elbows on the table as he snacked a bit more on their shared 'lunch'.

The hours in the day had flown by, both Hermione and he thoroughly consumed in their work. By the time Draco had looked up at the clock, it was nearly two in the afternoon. While under normal circumstances he would have continued to work until his release, opting to skip lunch, he knew Granger did not do well without some substance in her belly and the blueberry scone was not going to fuel her for the full day. So he roused the witch and forced her down to the canteen before the house-elves closed it for the day. Their options were limited, as the hour was so late, and the pair settled on a lukewarm plate of chips to split as neither was feeling particularly hungry. It was economical—the sharing of their meal–which was the only reason Draco had agreed. Or at least, that's what he told himself as he paid for the plate while Hermione found them a table.

"Look, I'm not saying your friends are shite at setting you up—" Hermione began, brown eyes flickering to the plate as she searched for the perfect chip before picking it up and taking a tiny bite "—but Blaise really mucked it up if he thought you'd enjoy a date with Lavender Brown. And at Nebula of all places."

"Please don't remind me that I clearly need to work on securing better friends," Draco sighed, twisting a chip between his index finger and thumb idly. "Has Potter or the She-Weasel set you up on a terrible date before?"

"I mean, once upon a time, yes. But it's been ages since the topic of my romantic life has been on the table-thankfully." Hermione leaned forward, using the palms of her hands to rest her chin as she looked across the table at him. Her curls had dried with a frizz that created almost a halo around her head. Over a decade ago he would have thought her state appalling, but now the slightly disheveled appearance tugged at a confusing emotion deep within his bones.

"Don't get me wrong. After my divorce, Ginny took it upon herself to try and set me up with any eligible wizard she knew, but after my fifth terrible date, I think she gave up hope. Harry's never really pressed the issue. And as you might understand, Ron wasn't exactly keen on trying to pry into that part of my life anymore."

Draco nodded, gray eyes softening as he watched a myriad of emotions pass behind her eyes. He'd known of her short lived marriage to the Weasel-everyone in Wizarding Britain likely knew based on the way the_ Daily Prophet _ate up the breakup of what had been once referred to as their fairytale romance.

"What happened?" Draco blurted out. He wasn't sure if it was intentional or not, but there was a curiosity there that pushed him to try and figure out what ended her once picturesque marriage. When they had been together, they appeared happy. Or at least it seemed that way in the photos.

"To my marriage?" Hermione questioned, brown eyes flickering down to the plate and she selected another chip before shrugging.

Draco nodded, fidgeting in his seat to cross his legs at the knee. "You don't have to answer if it's too personal. I just-we've never actually discussed it before."

"It's not exactly polite conversation," Hermione said, and although the words could be conveyed as chastising, there was a distinct lilt to her tone that let him know she was teasing him. "We were young. Not that that can explain away all of the other problems we had, but it can pretty much cover the majority of them. The war changed things, not just for us, but for the world. I think I just assumed we would always be those teenagers in love-that everything else would fall into place as long as we were together but Ron and I are very, _very_ different people. And while once that made me love him, it began to be the reason I resented him.

"Don't think I was completely innocent either. I used our differences as ammunition during arguments and I think after a certain point you cannot take back things said during fights, you know?" Hermione's fingers spun the salt shaker on the dingy table, seemingly letting the motion distract her as she spoke of a time in her life that was so clearly painful—even seven years later.

Draco felt guilt bloom in the pit of his stomach, and he pressed his lips together as he watched her drudge through years of history—searching for a way to explain the reason her marriage failed while their peers had succeeded.

"In the end, we decided we weren't meant to be together. And truthfully, the night that Ron asked for a divorce was probably one of the better nights of our marriage. I felt like despite it being the end, it was the beginning. Like maybe once we'd separated that part of our lives, we could finally just go back to being friends." Hermione lifted her shoulders in a small shrug as she finally looked back up at him, her lips pulled in a sad smile that made his stomach clench.

"Well… did you?"

"Kind of, yeah. I mean it'll never be the same. If you think shagging someone complicates things, try being married. But when we do hang out it's the same." Hermione let the salt shaker settle in the middle of the table before she leaned back in the metal chair, her fingers drumming thoughtfully on the table. "It's actually kind of nice to see him so happy with Pansy."

"Nice?" Draco scoffed. "When I first heard they were dating I thought Pansy was madder than a box of frogs."

"Well obviously, but they seem to complement each other nicely. He needs a woman with a strong will to help guide him."

"If Pansy is anything, she is strong willed," Draco agreed.

"And truthfully, I kind of enjoy being single," Hermione admitted with a hushed tone.

The admission should not have felt like a punch to the gut, but her words seemed to steal the air in his lungs. She wanted… to be alone. Of course, she did. That made perfect sense. I mean they were nearing their thirties. All of their friends were pairing off, having babies and settling into a family lifestyle whereas both he and Granger seemed content to stay single. Or rather, he _had_ been content, until his mother and friends meddled in his affairs and made him question the very essence of what his life had become.

"Oh?" Draco questioned as he attempted to gulp down the rapidly forming lump in his throat.

"Don't get me wrong. I miss being with someone—having someone to come home to after a hard day at work. My cat's not great company, no surprise there. But I think I've sort of resigned myself to being single. It took a while, but once I got past feeling hopeless, I've started to enjoy my time. I get to do what I want when I want. I can cook zucchini without hearing someone gag, and I don't have to pick up after anyone else but myself and Crooks… so you win some, you lose some."

"It's not too late, you know?" Draco said, gray eyes falling to the plate, afraid she might see some sort of unintended emotion on his face. "You're still young, and maybe—"

Maybe what? Draco wasn't entirely sure. Maybe she'd meet her future partner and never be alone? Maybe the person she was meant to be with was already in her life? Maybe it was him?

But thought died on his tongue, lost in the whirlwind of his mind when a familiar voice could be heard from over his shoulder.

"Draco?"

Twisting his body towards the caller, Draco's brows rose as he spotted Theo making his way to their table. His brows knit in confusion at seeing Theo in the Ministry canteen. Theo didn't go into government work like many of their peers had post-war. The wizard opted to take over his family's business, and let his aging father retire so he could enjoy his last couple of decades. Tracy, who worked in the Department of Magical Permits, was out on leave, preparing to give birth to their first child, which made his appearance that much more unusual. "Theo? What are you doing here?" Draco questioned as he rose from the table, snatching a paper napkin from beside the plate of chips and using it to wick the oil and salt from his fingers.

"I was just dropping off some patent paperwork when I thought I'd stop by your office. The receptionist said you were down in the canteen for a late lunch." Theo held out his hand, and pulled Draco into a quick one-armed hug. It had taken Draco ages to grow accustomed to Theo's inability to keep his bloody hands to himself. He grew up in a house where physical affection was not showered upon him. He was expected to have a stiff upper lip at a young age, and could vividly remember his mother and father arguing over what he deemed as her coddling him. With this cold approach to existence, the first time Theo hugged him, he nearly came out of his skin, but now that Draco had become accustomed to his touchy-feely ways, he found a strange comfort in the friendly embrace. "So I thought I'd come say hello before I popped back to the office. Hullo Hermione."

"Hi Theo," Hermione said with a small wave, brown eyes sparkling up at his friend. "How's Tracy?"

"She's doing well. Stir crazy being at home already, and we still have another month to go." Theo said as he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. Hazel eyes flickered to the single plate of chips on the table before over to Draco and the corner of his mouth quirked as he raised a single brow.

Draco gave a small shake of his head, praying that Theo wouldn't press the issue of their shared plate in front of Hermione. Moving back to the table, Draco returned to his seat before gesturing towards the empty chair beside him. "Care to join us?"

"Oh no," Theo quickly declined. "I don't want to interrupt."

"You're hardly interrupting. We were just discussing Draco's latest date," Hermione assured Theo, her hands folding in her lap as she settled back into her chair.

"Ah… so he's complaining to you, too?"

"I never complained!" Draco defended, eyes narrowing on Theo. It was moments like these that made him really consider the merits of having friends. While yes, it was nice to converse with someone who wasn't family, was it truly worth having to deal with the odd quirks of others?

"I wouldn't call it complaining per se…" When Hermione's voice trailed off, clearly implying the opposite of what she stated, Draco's head snapped in her direction and his brows rose in surprise. "What?!" she laughed, her eyes crinkling. "Oh, don't be so sore. It's all in good fun."

"You wouldn't be laughing if she snogged you without provocation," Draco murmured, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Now that would be far more interesting," Theo said as he lifted his hand to tap his index finger against his chin, eyes lifting towards the ceiling in thought. "Maybe I can tell Blaise to set you up with her next, Granger."

"Oh shut it." Hermione's cheeks tinted pink as she picked up another chip and popped it into her mouth.

Theo chuckled, his hand falling back to his side as he shifted his weight between his feet. "Well, as lovely as this little conversation is, I do believe I should probably head back to work and allow you both to get back to… whatever it is you're doing," he said with a lazy gesture towards the table. "But before I go, will you both be attending the babyshower? If Tracy finds out I saw you both and didn't confirm, I might as well not come home, so I figure it's best to ask. You know what they say, happy wife, happy life."

"We'll be attending," Draco said before he could catch himself, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Hermione cock her head to the side as his acceptance for the both of them and he realised his faux pas. "Or rather… I'll be attending. I assume you'll be there too, Granger?"

"I will."

"Yes, so we'll be attending. Separately, but we'll both be there."

"Splendid. So you'll both be attending. Alone. Together," Theo confirmed, amusement evident in the way his lips pulled in a smirk as he began to back away from the table. "Perfect. Well, just so you know, Draco. We've invited someone I'd like to introduce you to."

Shite.

"-She's a friend of Tracy's that I think you might hit it off with-"

Fuck.

"-No pressure, of course. But it is _my_ turn."

"Great." Draco forced a smile to his lips, his teeth grinding. He already wasn't looking forward to attending the babyshower, what with all those stupid diaper games and 'don't say baby' bullshite, but now he was going to be set up at the bloody thing?! What fate had he pissed off recently to indur this type of torture? "Sounds… amazing."

"I thought you'd be happy." Theo wagged his brows playfully at his friend before he lifted his hand to give a small wave to Hermione as his eyes flicked towards her. "See you both later, then?"

Hermione returned the gesture silently, her lips pressed into a line in what seemed like an attempt to prevent her laughter as she tracked Theo across the room until he slipped from the canteen. "A date? My, my, Malfoy. Aren't you just the bell of the ball lately?"

"Don't."

"All the witches are vying for your favour. Should we cancel our lunch meetings just in case you need to meet up with one of them?"

"Granger," he said in warning, his hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Far be it from _me_ to stop budding romance-"

"That's it!" Draco leaned across the table, snatching up a handful of chips and one by one began tossing them at Hermione, who'd fallen into a fit of laughter as she tried to bat away the incoming food.

"Okay, okay! I surrender," she squeaked as she plucked a piece of potato from her curls, tossing it onto the table. "I'll stop… but only under one condition."

"I don't think you're in a position to bargain, Granger," Draco pointed out as he wagged a limp chip at her. "But… continue."

"I won't tease you about your dates _if_ you promise to continue to buy me tea and scones even after you've started dating someone."

Draco let out a small puff of air through his nose, watching as she brushed crumbs from her lap before trying to fix the frizzy halo of curls that had seemed to grow larger during their lunch. Dating someone? She spoke of it like the possibility was real. There was no way whatever witch Theo was setting him up with would be anywhere near as interesting as she was-and he wasn't even interested in her like that. So how could he possibly wind up in a relationship? "Sure… I'll keep supplying you with caffeine and pastries."

Hermione let out a little noise from the back of her throat as she squirmed in her seat, clearly excited over the prospect of continued tea and scones. His heart flared within his chest, watching the adorable little display with a half grin as he leaned back in his chair, one arm crossing over his chest as the other went up to rest against his chin.

"Well, since I'm barred from discussing your dates, I should probably get back to work." Hermione swept up the fallen food from the table, and set it on her napkin before she pushed up from the chair, hair framing her face as she gathered her purse from the floor and slung it over her shoulder. "You coming?"

"No, you go ahead, I'll be up in a minute," Draco said with a casual motion to the door.

"Okay. Don't take too long," Hermione said before leaving the table.

Draco tracked her as she moved across the canteen, watching the way her curls bounced with each step, beckoning him to slide his fingers into the frizzy ringlets—just so he could help give her hair some semblance of order, not at all because he wanted to see if they felt as soft as he imagined. Or if they still smelt of her citrus shampoo.

He and Granger were just friends—coworkers truthfully. Nothing out of the ordinary. Or, at least that's what he was trying to convince himself of as he chewed on his bottom lip, taking the extra moments of silence to compose his runaway thoughts before he would have to slip back in their tiny office and share space with the witch for the next three hours.


	5. Chapter 5

**Saturday, December 6, 2008**

"She's right over there," Theo whispered, his sharp elbow digging into Draco's side before he nodded across the room. "Tracy's friend."

Draco nearly dropped the present he'd been carrying, hissing in discomfort as he took a quick step away from Theo, gray eyes narrowing on the wizard. "Merlin's pants, Theo. Do you sharpen those things?"

Theo rolled his eyes with a quick shake of his head, his lips pursing to the corner of his mouth. "Stop being such a bloody child and go introduce yourself," he muttered before turning to his friend, holding out his arms expectantly for the purple gift.

Draco's grip tightened on the present, his finger's splaying over the side of the box and he glanced across the room in the direction Theo gestured. He was hesitant, at best, about this whole set up. After the failed attempts by his parents and Blaise, he held little hope that Theo would be able to set him up with a witch who was at least remotely interesting.

"Her name's Romilda. We actually went to school with her, but I don't think you knew her then, " Theo whispered as he leaned in, plucking the box from Draco's arms.

Across the room sat a gaggle of women, two of which were heavily pregnant, so Draco would only hope the witch in question was the slender brunette who stood beside them. She was pretty enough. Long dark hair and an olive complexion that was only complimented by the coral and cream dress she wore.

So far, she passed the initial visual inspection, but Circe only knew what would happen when she opened her mouth.

"House?" Draco tore his eyes from his prospective date, turning his attention back to his friend who was already walking towards the gift table to set down Draco's present.

"Ravenclaw."

"Hm…"

"I wouldn't set you up with a dullard, if that's your concern." Theo glanced over his shoulder, giving him a pointed look before he set the present on the table. "She's actually quite intelligent. Works for Jorkins and Seberath's in their Potions Research and Development section."

"She's a Potions Master?" Draco's voice betrayed his attempt to remain uninterested, his inflection just enough to convey the inkling of interest that began to blossom. Potions Mastery was once a dream of his, but that had been long ago. Before he took the mark, and well before the war. Circumstances had changed, and although he did not regret his decision to study law, there would always be a small part of him that wondered if the highly coveted and specialized field would have even been obtainable—if he had even had the talent for it.

"No. Nothing of the sort. She works with the Potions Masters. Her work is more… theoretical," Theo explained, hazel eyes tracking a house elf who was approaching with a tray full of some fruity cocktail that was topped with purple foam. Snatching two from the tray, Theo held them out towards Draco expectantly. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure what the bloody hell she meant by that, but what a good conversation starter, eh?"

Draco eyed the drinks skeptically, his lips pursing, but before he could voice so much as a concern about drinking something with purple fucking foam on it, Theo shoved the drinks against his chest.

"Hullo Barnaby!" Theo called across the room, a wide smile crossing over his features and he gave Draco one last glance, eyes flickering between the drinks and him. "Take her the bloody cocktail and try not to fuck this one up."

"Such words of encouragement," Draco murmured as he took hold of the cocktails and stepped aside so Theo could go greet whatever sad sack had the displeasure of being named Barnaby.

Inhaling deeply, Draco steeled his courage, while mentally telling himself that maybe, _just maybe_, this wouldn't be so bloody bad. Worst case scenario, he could leave the baby shower early—which no matter what sounded like a much better plan than hanging around to play some dreadful games.

He crossed the room towards the group of witches, careful to avoid bumping into any other party goers, and he cleared his throat on his approach to let the women know he was there.

"I was told to bring you this," Draco said, extending the fruity drink towards the brunette.

Romilda turned to face him. Up close she was far more striking that she had been from across the room. Her hair was deep brown, almost black but there was a distinct warmth to the tone. Her olive complexion gave her a sun kissed appearance even in the soft fall light that barely filtered through the heavy curtains. "Uh… thank you."

Their fingers brushed as she took the cup, and Draco knew that according to the romance novels his mother read, this was typically where he should feel a spark. A defining moment where his passing interest in the pretty brunette flamed into something more.

But there was nothing.

No spark. No fireworks. Not even an inkling of an accelerated heart rate.

"I'm friends with Theo and Tracy," Draco offered in quick explanation as he stuffed his free hand into his trouser pocket, gray eyes flickering between Romilda and her friends.

"Well, you are at their baby shower… so one would assume…"

"No—I mean, yes of course but… I'm _that_ friend of theirs…"

Romilda looked at him blankly, still clearly struggling to make the connection. Making him doubt that Theo had even told her about him—let alone appraised her of the harebrained idea of setting him up with her. But then, just as he was about to excuse himself to go strangle the father-to-be, the witch's eyes flashed with recognition and a slow blush blossomed across her cheeks.

"Oh! You're… Okay. Sorry!" Romilda flushed, glancing over her shoulders to her friends and she gave them an apologetic smile for leaving them before turning to face Draco completely, her hand coming to rest on his bicep. "I'm sorry. Hi, I'm Romilda."

"Hi," Draco returned, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips before he extended his hand towards her. "I'm Draco."

"Oh, I know who you are," Romilda replied as she took his hand in hers, giving it a small shake.

Draco watched the pregnant friends drift away, knowing smiles already plastered on their faces as they whispered to one another, waddling into the crowd. Draco's fingers curled a bit tighter around his glass and he was half tempted to sample the fruity drink just to help ease the lump of dread down his throat, but instead opted to drop it on a house-elf's tray as they passed. "So… do they do this often?"

"Have children? No, I do believe this is their first," Romilda said with a playful lilt as she lifted her drink up for a small sip, dark eyes dancing.

"What? No, of course I know it's their first. I meant—"

"I know what you meant," she interrupted. Her tongue swept across her lips, collecting the lingering purple foam from her mouth. "I was just trying to break the tension."

"Oh…" Draco let the single syllable word fall between them, his expression blanking. Great. They set him up with one of _those_ types.

"But, to answer your question, no. Tracy nor Theo have set me up with anyone before," Romilda explained. "How about you? Is this new for you as well?"

Draco gave her a single nod, his lips pressing together. "Unfortunately, no. It's the first time Theo opted to try his hand, but I'm afraid I've had the displeasure of attending one too many arranged dates before."

"Well, lucky for you this isn't a date," Romilda pointed out, gesturing towards the front of the room with the hand that still clutched her cocktail. "We're here for a baby shower, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Draco muttered as his eyes drifted around the room, taking in the overload of pastel floral décor. "Unless Nott Manor is being converted into a florist's shop."

"Could you imagine? I do believe Theo's grandfather would roll over in his grave."

"He's actually entombed," Draco corrected as he glanced around the room. "But I suppose the idea is the same."

"Do you always do that?"

Draco glanced at the witch out of the corner of his eye, her question catching him off guard. It wasn't as if their chat had been unpleasant up until that point—Draco was nearly certain he hadn't said anything offensive, which begged the question what the hell could she mean by that? "Do what?"

"Use your sarcasm as a means of masking your emotions."

Draco bristled, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he turned to face Romilda directly. They'd spent a whole three bloody minutes talking to one another, so how the bloody hell could she make such a broad assumption about his personality? Sure, maybe they _did_ go to school together—she looked slightly familiar, but that certainly didn't mean she _knew_ him.

The longer her question rolled through his mind, the more agitated he grew. He'd spent two years trapped in a tiny office with Granger and not once had she complained about his demeanor! Two years sitting literally face to face with a witch who by all accounts, had every bloody right to hate him after years of adolescent stupidity—on both of their parts, though admittedly mostly on his— and yet she actually enjoyed his company. Even laughed at his dry humor.

"You know—"

"Malfoy!"

A familiar feminine voice called across the room, and the fire that had been poised on the tip of his tongue turned to ash as he spun to find it's source.

Granger.

In the middle of the crowd stood the ever present witch in his life. Her thick mane of curls was left down in a semi-controlled fashion, and she wore a knit sweater dress that hugged the curves she so rarely allowed to show during the work week. His brows rose in surprise at her less than formal attire. She wasn't underdressed for the baby shower by any means, but he'd been so used to seeing her in work robes that the casual comfort of the knit dress, paired with knee high boots and colorful stockings seemed almost shocking.

"Excuse me." Draco didn't bother to look at Romilda as he crossed the room to meet Granger halfway, his lips quirking in a small grin as they approached one another. "I was beginning to think you'd decided to skive it off."

"From a baby shower? No bloody chance. Pregnant witches always cater the best kind of treats," Hermione said with a small wave of her hand to the passing trays of hors d'oeuvres. "That, and I'm fairly certain Tracy wouldn't ever forgive me if I didn't attend," she added with a whisper as she leaned closer towards him, her hand tucking her small beaded clutch under her arm.

"I guess I didn't realise you two were close."

"Oh, we're not. I've been helping George with permits for his shop, and Tracy's been a real gem. That Department is run horribly, so when you find a good contact, you hold onto them." Hermione shrugged.

"Ahh. So you're here to keep your man—or in this case, woman–on the inside happy," Draco laughed softly with a slow nod of his head. "Smart witch."

"Oh, I learned from the best." Hermione gestured toward him playfully. "But if you ever tell anyone I said that, I will have to deny it and call you a liar. So don't get too cocky."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Draco conceded with a raised hand, his head dipping playfully in surrender. "Would you like a drink? I can try to get one of those cocktails floating about if you'd like," Draco offered as he began to look around the room, searching for the house elf with the tray of fruity cocktails.

"Ehh. Thank you but I'll pass," Hermione said with a forced smile, brown eyes cutting towards the approaching creature and she shook her head no. "I'd rather not drink anything that's the same color as Gertie's hair."

"_That's_ why it looks so familiar!"

"Ha! I thought you'd pick up on it right away. You spend so much time flirting with her."

"Flirting?" Draco's head cocked to the side, his brows knitting. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Oh, you think we don't notice?" Hermione said as she leaned in, shouldering him playfully. "I've seen your little post-lunch routine more times than I'd like to count."

The touch sent a warm wave across his skin, and suddenly the air in the room felt a tad too warm for the gray blazer he'd chosen this morning. Lifting his hand from his pocket, he unbuttoned his coat, pulling it to gather the sides of his jacket on his forearms before his hands slipped back into his trouser pockets.

"You mean saying hello to an elderly witch? Circe's tit, I didn't realise that was considered flirting. What would you classify our interactions as? Lewd?"

"It's not just saying hello, Draco," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes.

The use of his given name on her tongue felt foreign. Not odd, but certainly not what he expected. After nearly two years he could almost count the number of times he'd heard her utter his given name—and Merlin only knew the number of times he'd actually used her name. Whereas he could have blown off the subtle slip and paid it no mind, now he was curious to hear her say it again, wanting to know if the way she drawled his name would grow on him.

"It's leaving her after lunch cookies."

"She's a huge help to our division. It's only right that someone recognizes her efforts."

"And you're the wizard for the job?"

"Don't be jealous, Granger. You've got morning scones. Gertie has afternoon cookies. I can make both the witches in my life happy."

Hermione's eyes crinkled as her smile grew with her laughter, the jovial chuckle igniting some inexplicable feeling of success within him. "Well, as long as I don't have to give up on my blueberry scones… I guess I can allow it."

"See, compromise. Whoever said Gryffindors were too stubborn to compromise was clearly wrong," Draco teased, leaning towards her until his shoulder connected with hers in a gentle nudge.

"Uhh. Actually, I believe that's what they say about Slytherins," Hermione corrected, clasping her hands at her waist as she beamed up at him.

Draco shook his head, his nose wrinkling as his face pinched. "No. I don't think so."

"Whatever. You can keep believing that as long as you go find me a drink that isn't the color of your hundred-year-old girlfriend's hair."

"I'll do my best, but no promises." Draco's eyes already began to drift around the room, flickering from tray to tray to find them both a suitable beverage to sip on for the remainder of the party. "Our options are fairly limited, but I do know my way to the kitchens."

"Just hurry up." Hermione nudged her hip against his before she gestured for him to go survey the room with a little twirl of her finger. "I need you back before the games start. I need a partner who is at least semi-competent."

Draco let out a short laugh, his head shaking as he began to move into the crowd. "Your flattery never ceases to amaze me, Granger." He gave her one last glance before he slipped into the crowd in search of libations.

* * *

The remainder of the baby shower had gone better than Draco expected.

He found himself actually enjoying the stupid little games Tracy's mother requested they all play—mostly in part to his table mate. Granger found a way to turn even the most mundane task into something he was eager to participate in. It wasn't that he enjoyed the games, or the little tasks they'd been given, but rather he found it almost endearing the overly competitive nature she held-clearly a remaining Gryffindor trait from their school days. He rarely got to see it in the office, but watching her battle to be the best at changing a doll's nappy had been quite comical.

The hours ticked by, and before he could even comprehend how quickly it all passed, the party was winding down.

Tracy and Theo sat across the room, looking more disgustingly in love than ever before as the wizard stroked his hand across her swollen belly. The remaining guests lingered about the transformed ballroom, drinking the last of the cocktails and snacking on the hor d'oeuvres.

"Alright, I think that's enough for me," Hermione said as she set down her glass of half-drunk white wine on the cocktail table.

"Already?" Draco's head tilted to the side, as he watched her gather her clutch from the table top. "I never pegged you for a quitter, Granger."

"Hardly," Hermione scoffed, peering up at him from beneath her thick lashes before she dropped her eyes to her purse, making sure she had all her contents inside. "I need to get home and feed my cat… and as much fun as I've had here, I think I would much prefer to change out of this dress and into some pyjamas."

"Pyjamas? It's only seven."

"And?"

"And? It's hardly appropriate to change into sleepwear at seven." Clearly the witch was unaware of social protocols. Night clothing was not appropriate until at least nine. Surely she was mistaken—or perhaps never had a proper teacher. He would be willing to bet she likely was also the type to lounge the weekend away in those dreadful _yoga_ pants Muggle women wore in public. As nice as they were—for aesthetic reasons only–they hardly seemed practical for daily wear.

"Well, I think I'll take my chances at being deemed inappropriate," Hermione laughed, her curls bouncing around her face. "I don't think Crookshanks will mind, and there is no one else in my flat to judge—save for my house plants, but they aren't sentient."

"Ahh, but they still judge. Ferns especially. Nasty things," Draco said as he lifted his index finger off his glass to point at her before he tipped back the remainder of his wine before his glass was set next to hers. "Well, I suppose I should head home as well. I have no beasts to take care of, but I have a feeling the company remaining here will be decidedly less interesting now that you're leaving."

Draco watched as a small blush blossomed on the apples of Hermione's cheeks, and her hands paused their search in her purse for a moment. He couldn't help but feel a small flutter in his chest at her reaction, but told himself it was simply the three glasses of wine he'd consumed. After all, he would never possess those sort of feelings for Granger.

Not because she wasn't fit.

No, she was bloody beautiful—thick brown curls that he wanted to slide his fingers into, big doe eyes that conveyed every ounce of emotion she felt, and those freckles. Merlin he could lose himself tracing the freckles that sprinkled across her nose and shoulders.

No, he couldn't feel _that_ way about her because—because?—because she was his coworker!

"Bugger. I think I forgot my umbrella and it looks like rain," Hermione huffed, her lips pursing to the corner of her mouth as she dug deeper into her clutch than physics allowed.

"I can walk you."

"Oh, I couldn't—"

"I don't mind. I haven't got plans this evening… and a stroll wouldn't be a bad way to work off some of the tart from earlier."

Hermione appeared to consider the idea, brown eyes sparkling at him before she gave a nod with a small smile quirking her lips. "Okay, but only if you're sure."

Draco's eyes rolled toward the ceiling as he thinned his lips. He wasn't about to bloody beg her to allow him, she would just have to be okay with his offer. Shaking his wristwatch down his arm, Draco lifted his blazer's sleeve to check the time, verifying he would still be on schedule to maintain his 9 o'clock. reading hour before he let his eyes find her once more. "Where do you live?"

"Just on the other side of the Alley," Hermione snapped her clutch closed before tucking it under her arm so she could adjust the hem of her dress. "In those new flats on Horizon Alley."

"Shall I Side-Along us?" Draco questioned as he began away from the table, his eyes drifting across the room towards Tracy and Theo and he lifted a single hand in a wave goodbye when he caught Theo's attention.

Hermione fell into step beside him, and he made sure to keep a careful distance from her as they made their way towards the exit, lest anyone who watched them leave think this was anything other than him being a gentleman and escorting a witch home. "Oh, sure. That'd be great. I Flooed here from The Leaky—Tracy arranged access, but if I can avoid the pub, it'd be better. Tom's a bit of a talker."

"Hm… wouldn't know. Barely says a word to me," Draco mused.

"I'm sure that has nothing to do with the ever present scowl on your face," Hermione teased as she pressed her shoulder into his.

"It didn't seem to deter you from being friendly."

"That's because I wore you down with my charm."

"Ahh. That's what it's called?" Draco snarked, and as the pair moved through the front door of Nott Manor, Draco's hand instinctively going to her lower back to guide her onto the front porch.

Draco withdrew his wand from inside his blazer and gave it a quick flourish. "_Adsicco."_

Iridescent blue magic poured from the tip of his wand and bloomed up to create a shield from the rain, the hood of his magic umbrella barely able to keep both of them dry. Draco squeezed closer, his arm curling around Hermione's waist.

From this distance he could make out the way her eyes seemed to contain gold flakes, and the intoxicating floral scent of her perfume which only seemed to heighten that strange feeling in his stomach every time she was near. "Ready?"

Hermione turned into him, her right hand resting on his chest as the other wrapped around his wand arm, her fingers curling across where, beneath his layers, his Dark Mark lay. And while under other circumstances—with other witches—he might have pulled away from the innocent touch, he didn't feel the impulse now. He didn't have to hide his past from her. Granger knew of his shortcomings but also of the man he was becoming. She accepted him—as a friend—despite it all.

"Ready," she breathed before looking up to hold his gaze.

His pulse quickened as she leaned into his embrace, gray eyes flickering between her eyes and her lips and for a brief moment, a temporary insanity seemed to compel him to see if her lips tasted as sweet as they looked. But just as he began to lean down, a crackle of thunder snapped him back to reality.

Clearing his throat, Draco looked up, steeling his eyes across the expansive Nott Estate and he pressed his lips together. Merlin, he needed to pull it together. This was fucking Granger. _Granger_. He'd spent nearly every day for the past two years in her presence. Why would she have this bloody effect on him now?

Draco closed his eyes and with a heavy breath, he pushed his wayward thoughts from his mind and concentrated on getting them to Diagon Alley in one piece.

As their feet touched down on the cobblestone street, Draco's arm around Hermione's waist tightened. His fingers flexed around her hip bone as he made sure she had her footing before he released his grip. "All intact?"

"Of course. Do you have a history of splinching?" Hermione questioned with a playful lift of her brow as she smoothed out the invisible wrinkles on her dress.

"Just lead the way, swot," Draco said as he took half a step back to once again allow for a proper amount of space between them. His arm stayed extended, keeping the majority of the umbrella over her while droplets of rain began to pepper his shoulders and back.

They walked in comfortable silence, only the sound of his loafers and her heeled boots clacking against the stone could be heard over the pitter-patter of rain. As they moved through the alley, Draco's eyes drifted from shop to shop, peering into the luminated windows, watching the store keeps close up their business for the day.

He rarely frequented the Alley anymore. It wasn't as if the majority of the proprietors would welcome him with open arms—even years following the war–but he was happy to see life had returned to the once decimated epicenter of the British Wizarding World. A mixture of new and familiar store fronts filled The Alley. Warm and inviting, their presence created a tingle of awe that he had not felt since he was a small child.

Distracted by his inspection of the store fronts, Draco did not notice Hermione lift her hand to rest over his until the flush of warmth from her skin sent a jolt of electricity down his arm. His stomach clenched as he turned to look down at her, gray eyes flickering between her hand and her face curiously.

"Just over here," she instructed as she pulled him with her by his wand hand towards a small alcove next to a deli. Hermione withdrew her wand and she pressed the tip toward a complex-looking lock before she pulled her hand from his and she pushed on the door. "Do you have a moment before you return home?"

"Uh… yes?" Draco adjusted his grip on his wand, his head cocking to the side quizzically.

"I forgot to return the Werewolf Legislation to you on Friday and want to give it back before I forget. I left some notes on your corrections that you might want to review before your meeting." Hermione stepped into the lobby of her building, her heels clacking on the tiled floor. "Do you want to pop up for a moment and I can retrieve it?"

"Oh… I can wait here if—"

"Nonsense. It's raining. Come up." Hermione cast a glance over her shoulder. "Wouldn't want you to get wet. You might melt."

"Come again?"

"You know… melt. Like the—you know what? Never mind." Hermione laughed with a wave of her hand. Whatever one-sided joke she'd just told certainly didn't seem funny to him, but he wasn't going to stop her if it meant he got to see her smile for just a second longer. "Come on."

Reaching back, her hand slipped into his that hung loose at his side and she tugged him across the threshold of her building. Canceling his charm, Draco stumbled through the doorway, following the witch as she led him down the narrow hallway.

Draco noted the way Hermione's hand felt in his. Small, and soft. A perfect fit. He refrained from lacing their fingers together, but vaguely wondered if the skin that lay between her fingers was just as soft as her palms. She didn't release his hand until they were in front of what he assumed was her door, and only then did so to break her security wards.

Once inside her flat, Draco lingered by the front door, as if afraid to stray too far into her personal space.

The flat was modest. Not nearly as big as his rooms in the Manor, but definitely habitable. The front door opened directly into the living space with no real foyer to speak of. Off to the left was a small kitchen, and to the right there appeared to be a hallway that would lead to what he assumed was her bedroom and bathroom. The furniture she'd selected was a far cry from the crisp gray and white tones he'd chosen, instead she'd clearly opted for warm tones. Rich mahogany furniture, padded with deep rustic tones filled her living space. Dark wooden bookshelves lined her walls, overflowing with tomes to, he was sure, absolutely no one's surprise.

Across the room on the back of the couch a large ginger-coloured cat lifted his head, large yellow eyes blinking at the pair before it rose, stretching his front legs in a low bow.

"Give me just a moment, Crooks," Hermione spoke to the pet as she unzipped her boots, revealing a mismatched pair of purple and green socks that would make several house elves at Hogwarts proud. Dropping her boots into a wicker basket that sat beside her front door, Hermione began down the hallway, her feet thumping loudly.

The beast responded with a low yowl, as if actually able to understand Granger.

"Make yourself comfortable, Draco." Hermione waved her hand toward the couch as she headed for the back hallway. "I'll just grab the file from my office."

Draco watched her disappear before moving further into her flat. He wasn't going to stay, but since she'd insisted, he might as well take a seat. Merlin only knew how long it would take her to find the bloody paperwork. If her home office was anything like the state in which she kept her work desk, he might be here a while.

Unbuttoning his blazer, Draco lowered himself onto the opposite end of the couch from Hermione's feline as he looked at the artwork and pictures that adorned her walls.

The beast prowled closer to him, hopping down onto the cushions of the couch before taking a seat directly next to him. The too large yellow eyes peered up at him, as if the thing was studying him like a first year did their History of Magic text.

Draco raised a single brow at the cat, his lips pushing to the corner of his mouth and when the feline cocked its head in response, the cat's bottle brush tail raising into the air, he let out a small amused chuckle. "You're not a normal cat, are you?"

Crookshanks didn't respond, but when Draco extended his hand to scratch at his head, the cat leaned into his touch.

"Sorry about the wait. Found it!"

Draco turned towards the hallway, watching as Granger moved into the room. Her curls had been swept up into a messy bun that only seemed to amplify the sheer volume of her mane. Pushing off the couch he met her in the middle of the room to accept the file.

"I hope my notes make sense. If you have any questions you can Floo call me. I should be in the rest of the weekend." Hermione held out the file and there was a warmth in her eyes that let him know the offer was not merely for show.

"I'm certain whatever questions I have can wait until we return to office. But thank you." Draco tucked the file under his arm before threading the buttons on his blazer. "You are aware you're not required to work on the weekends, Granger?"

Hermione let out a snort with a roll of her eyes as she waved off his question. "Of course I am. But sometimes I'd much rather take care of the legislation on the weekends so I can clear my schedule for more important things during the week."

"Like more legislation?"

"Like more legislation," Hermione relented with a small laugh. "Thank you for walking me home, by the way. It was unnecessary but appreciated."

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't escort you home in the rain?" It really had been no bother. The walk through The Alley was nice—as was her company. Far better than returning home to deal with the possibility of his mother pestering him about the baby shower.

"Ahh… there's that word again," Hermione said with a lift of her brows. "Friend."

"Does it not describe our relationship?" Draco questioned.

"Well no, I mean…yes, we _are_ friendly." Hermione reached up, pushing some of the fallen fringe from her forehead, smoothing it back across the top of her head. "But I guess… I mean…"

Draco watched her struggle with her thoughts, her face quirking. There was an air of reluctance with her struggle that brought a twinge of fear to his heart. Was he misreading the signs? Did she _not_ see him as a friend? Had he read too much into the friendly conversation, cups of tea, and shared lunches?

"I can refrain from using it if it makes you uncomfortable," Draco offered hastily, his teeth chewing on the inside of his bottom lip as he took a small step back to provide her more space.

Hermione's eyes flashed up to him, widening as she shook her head no and her hand went out to take his. "No! That's not what I meant." Hermione rushed out, taking a step closer to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you think I didn't think of you as a friend. I do. It was just a stupid thought."

Draco's eyes dropped down to look at where her hand rested on his and he turned his palm over so he could return the gesture. Heat radiated across his skin, bringing the smallest hint of a flush to his pale cheeks. It was the wine. It had to be the wine. The wine was the reason why her touch suddenly made his heart sing, and his skin turn to flame. The wine was the reason he felt so bloody confused about the whole friendship with Granger thing. Perhaps he should avoid drinking around her—at least until he could get control of his thoughts.

"Draco?"

Gray eyes lifted toward her, the realization of how utterly close they were sinking in as he took in her appearance. The light layer of makeup highlighting her features was beautiful—but Merlin, it wasn't needed. He could make out the soft hint of her freckles, and the way the sun kissed warmth of her skin made the brown in her eyes look almost like honey.

He moved closer to her, as if she were a planet and he was being pulled into her orbit. His free hand rose—because Circe only knew he wasn't going to let go of her hand, and he brushed back the wayward curls she'd tried unsuccessfully to subdue into a bun. His lips lifted ever so slightly as he looked down at her. As their eyes locked, he could feel his resolve begin to slip away. The insistence that this feeling—whatever it was that brewed between them–was just the wine, and nothing more was rapidly disappearing.

His fingertips brushed along her jawline, and he captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently angling her head up as he began to lower down to her height. And just as the feeling of her breath washed over his lips, a loud meow pulled him back to a crushing reality.

Draco quickly dropped his hand, stepping back from Hermione, who stayed rooted in place as if she were a statue to remind of him the stupid impulsive decision he was about to make. "I—I'll see you on Tuesday?...Because of the holiday..." He said quickly as he began to backpedal out of her flat, his lips pressing together as he jammed the hand that had been held by hers into his trouser pocket. "The gym at five… right?"

Hermione gulped, her arms curling around her torso as she forced a smile that didn't quite meet her still glassy eyes. "Yeah," she whispered with a nod, her voice cracking. "I wouldn't miss it."

Draco gave an exaggerated nod of his head before he spun on his heel, making a quick exit from her flat. He hurried down the hallway, his loafers snapping loudly on the tile as he practically ran out of her building and into the rainy street.

He was nearly halfway to the Apparition point by the time he realised he'd forgotten to cast his umbrella charm. Rain slicked his fringe to his forehead and soaked his suit, but he couldn't be bothered to cast it. No, not when he needed to get home. He had his book to get to—his routine to keep him from crossing a line with Granger. For he was certain once crossed, he would never be able to return to the casual comfort of the little friendship they'd developed over the past two years.


	6. Chapter 6

**Monday, December 8,2008**

Wake up.

Breakfast—three egg whites, half a cup of mixed berries, and two pieces of bacon with a single cup of Earl Grey.

Work out—running around the grounds because he was not about to trudge to the Ministry gym on a holiday.

Mid-afternoon tea with Mother.

Lunch in the study with Father.

Document review post-lunch in his chambers.

Dinner in the dining hall.

And now, an evening reading in the library

By all accounts his day had gone one hundred percent according to routine. Everything seemed right in the world as far as Draco was concerned. Except of course, if he didn't take into consideration the way he could not bloody close his eyes without thinking about Granger.

The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. The sound of her laugh. The frizz to her curls. Her freckles.

The way she smelt—spring flowers, vanilla and just a hint of citrus.

The softness of her hand in his.

The way her breath prickled his skin when he leaned in, seconds away from tasting her lips.

His eyes slammed closed as the memories of their near kiss clouded his mind once more and his fingers curled around the book that rested in his lap. He'd been struggling through the old text of Mermaid mating rituals, hoping it might provide useful for an upcoming case. While the subject matter was not his favourite, he should have been able to push through it. He'd made it through the fucking numerous lectures by Professor Binns without any problem, but this Granger issue was proving to be more distracting than he was prepared to admit.

With a deep breath, Draco tried to force his feelings away using Occlumency tricks that he'd perfected long ago. Gathering the wayward feelings, he forced them into a little box in the dark recesses of his mind.

The sound of the library door sliding across the marble flooring pulled him from his process, and he craned his neck towards the door expecting to see his mother. She often would visit him in the evenings while he read, opting to choose a book and sit beside him— but it had been a number of weeks since she'd graced him with her presence after dinner.

Instead of Mother, the image of one of his best friends awaited him.

Theo was looking around the room, dressed casually in a pair of trousers and a thick gray jumper. His hair was lightly mussed, letting Draco know he'd likely just come from home as opposed to an outing.

"Theo?"

The wizard turned his attention from his casual inspection of the library shelves and offered him a smile. "In the flesh."

"Is everything okay?" Draco picked up a black ribbon from the arm of his wingback chair and slipped it into the book before setting the tome on the table beside him. It was rare to take visitors this late—let alone one whose spouse was literally weeks away from giving birth. Surely there had to be an emergency.

"Everything's perfectly fine. I just wanted to pop by and say thank you for the gift," Theo explained with a casual wave of his hand as he approached.

Draco nodded, his brow knitting as he watched the wizard claim the open seat directly across from him and he pursed his lips together. "You wanted to come visit, in person, to thank me for a gift? Surely a card would have been a better use of your time."

"Tracy is handling the card business. So don't think you won't receive one," Theo said as he crossed his legs over one another, settling back into the chair.

"Okay, seriously. Not that I mind the visit, but what the bloody hell are you doing here?" Draco questioned, trying to cut through the bullshite to determine the actually purpose of Theo's appearance. "You've got a pregnant witch at home, and what looked like a mountain of gifts to put away. I highly doubt you're here just to thank me."

Theo let out a small laugh, and he folded his hands over his stomach. "Tracy's mum is over helping prepare the nursery. So truthfully, I needed to get the hell out to keep my sanity. I also might have wanted to see what happened between you and Romilda."

And there it was. The truth.

This wasn't a friendly visit. It was a bloody recon mission. He had likely been instructed by his wife to go determine if sparks flew and future plans were made.

"Well then, this should be a quick trip," Draco murmured as he lifted a hand to rub against his temple. "Nothing happened."

"Oh, no. You seem to have misunderstood." Theo uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, head dipping lightly as he leaned forward to press his elbows to his thighs. "I'm well aware _nothing happened._ She made a point to mention how oddly you behaved in an owl this morning to Tracy. What I am trying to figure out is what the hell happened."

"What do you mean?" Draco questioned. "I wasn't interested. Plain and simple."

"Draco, this little meeting was supposed to be a precursor to a date… and you ignored the witch." Theo sighed, lifting his palms upwards as if to inquire as to what the problem had been.

"Look, I would apologize but frankly, I don't really feel inclined. I told both you and Blaise that it was unnecessary for you to meddle in my love life," Draco explained plainly, his hands dropping unceremoniously to rest on the arms of his chair. "I am sure Romilda is a lovely witch. She just… isn't my type."

"Since you clearly have a set of criteria you're judging witches against, please, do tell—what exactly is your type, Draco?"

Draco's lips pulled down in a frown, and his eyes dropped to look at the marble flooring. That was a very good question. Draco hadn't actually given much thought to _what_his type was exactly. He just knew that Romilda, Lavender and Hannah were absolutely not what he was looking for in a partner.

"I… don't know. I've never given it much thought," he admitted, index finger tapping against the smooth leather.

"Well, humour me then. What are some traits you find desirable in a witch."

"You mean beyond the physical?"

"Blimey, yes. If looks were the only thing you were interested in, I'm fairly certain Blaise has an entire little black book that he could lend you," Theo snarked with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Draco's lips pursed and he lifted his eyes towards the ceiling as he put thought to Theo's question. "She needs to be career-driven, but know how to enjoy herself outside of the office. Outspoken. I don't want a witch who agrees with me all the time. Someone who is intelligent. I'd like to have meaningful conversations with—"

"So, Granger, then?" Theo interrupted, his brows lifting.

Draco's eyes immediately focused on his friend as he blanched. "What?" He had to have misheard. Granger? His… type? No. No, absolutely not. Granger was a colleague. His attraction was just… physical. Wine-induced. Nothing more.

"Your type is Granger," Theo said plainly, as if it were the most obvious and simple answer in the world—which Draco would happily point out, it wasn't.

"No—" Draco said with a quick shake of his head before he adjusted his footing to straighten his spine. "No, it's not like that."

"Isn't it though?" Theo questioned, his voice rising an octave as he spoke. "You two have lunch together nearly every day."

"We _are_ colleagues who happen to share an office. It's just coincidence that we take the same lunch hour."

"You shared a meal."

"Neither of us were that hungry. Besides, I'd hardly call a plate of chips a meal."

"She makes you laugh."

Draco pushed up from the chair, his hands lifting to smooth back the fringe across his head as he moved around the chair to pace behind it in growing irritation. "You and Blaise often make me laugh. By that logic, should I date you two as well?"

"Draco, come on," Theo said with a roll of his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest. "You ignore a fit witch at my baby shower—which by the way, would have been a sure thing. Instead, you spend the entire evening chatting with Granger. The same bloody witch you spend nearly nine hours a day with during the week."

Draco opened his mouth, prepared to retort but as Theo's words sunk in, Draco realised he didn't know what he could defend. Theo was right. Romilda should have been his type by all accounts—but there was something off about her. Something he couldn't place as to why he was so disinterested in even getting to know her.

"Look, mate. I'm not telling you what to do, but it's pretty bloody obvious you're interested in Granger. Why not just ask her out?" Theo shrugged at the suggestion, leaning back in the armchair once more.

"Because it's not like that, Theo. Granger is my friend. Yes, she does make me laugh. And yes, I enjoy her company, but—"

"Please just stop with the excuses." Theo lifted a hand to silence him, his lips quirking to the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to like her, Draco. We're not kids anymore...your father will get over it, and I highly doubt Narcissa would so much as blink if you brought her home. I'm not suggesting you go propose tonight, but… maybe just think about it. She makes you happy, you clearly make her happy and I think after all the bullshite both of you have waded through, you deserve to be happy."

Maybe Theo was right. Granger did make him happy. But there were what felt like thousands of reasons to not give in to the feelings. They came from two very different lifestyles. Sure in an office setting they could cohabitate, but surely it would be different if romance was involved—wouldn't it? Granger would never see him like that. Not after everything they'd been through… right?

"Look, I should get back to Tracy, and you look like you need to ponder life decisions, so on that note, I'm headed home." Theo stood up from the chair, his hands slipping into his trouser pockets as he peered down at Draco. "But when it all works out between you two—which it will—just send me an invite to your wedding," he winked, not bothering to wait for a reply as he headed out of the library, leaving Draco to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Theo might be right.

Maybe his feelings for Granger weren't one-sided.

Maybe she felt it, too.

* * *

It was late.

Too bloody late for him to be headed to Granger's flat, but Theo's words wouldn't leave his mind.

And although Draco would never verbalise it, Theo was right.

He liked Granger.

Not just as a friend or colleague. But romantically. In hindsight it seemed so bloody obvious. This growing fascination had been there for months, and had now blossomed into a full blown crush.

And it wasn't just her looks, or her brains that he liked. It was everything about her. She made him feel at ease just by being in the same room, and Merlin how he longed for her company when she wasn't around. They could spend hours discussing the merits of declassification of intelligent magical life from creature to being, and he would never grow tired. When he was not at work, he missed her. When he was there, he longed for time to slow down so he could enjoy her company for just a bit longer.

And with this new—and rather important realisation, Draco felt obligated to inform her. To put his feelings on the line and risk ruining their working relationship by letting her know. That's what wizards were supposed to do right? Some big romantic gesture? Well it certainly wasn't a serenade in the park, but it was breaking his routine and as far as Draco was concerned, that was more fucking special than anything else.

Moving down the narrow hallway to her front door, Draco rapped quickly on the door, practically bouncing on his heels as he waited impatiently for her to answer. He needed to do this quick, or else he might lose the courage and convince himself this was not the best course of action.

Seconds ticked by, but it felt like minutes and when he lifted his hand again to knock on the door, it swung inward to reveal a very confused Granger.

"Draco? Are you okay?" she questioned as she pulled a ratty old gray cardigan around her middle, attempting to hide the mismatched pyjamas underneath.

Draco nodded, a short laugh slipping from his lips as he took in her disheveled appearance. Merlin help him, he even found her tattered sleepwear endearing. He was positively hopeless. How he'd gone so long without realising just how utterly perfect she was seemed so bloody impossible—especially since his heart seemed to kickstart just by being around her.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I just… I needed to tell you something," Draco explained.

Hermione looked over her shoulder, her brow furrowing. "It's nearly eleven at night."

"I know, it was important. It couldn't wait."

"Okay…"

"Granger… I like you."

Hermione looked taken aback by his statement, her head cocked to the side as her eyes narrowed on him. "I'm sorry… what?"

"I like you," Draco repeated, his mouth suddenly felt dry, and his stomach muscles clenched.

"Uh… thank you? I like you, too, Draco. But was it really necessary for you to come confirm our friendship this late?"

"No, Granger. Not like that. I like you," Draco tried again, his hand lifting to rub across the back of his neck nervously, like some bloody fourth year asking a date to the Yule Ball.

"Yes, we've established that, Draco."

"No! I like like you."

All at once the weight of his words must have hit , because one moment she looked confused and the next it was as if she were hit with an Immobulus. Her eyes widened and her lips formed an adorable little 'o' that made his heart stutter.'

"And I don't know if you feel the same, but I just thought you ought to know," he began to explain, his voice cracking with nervous tension. "I think about you all the time. All those bloody dates—and gods they were awful, but they didn't work because… because they weren't_ yo_u. I don't want any of those witches. I want someone who challenges me, and who pushes my buttons—and Merlin knows you do. Someone who gives me hell when I'm wrong, and who makes me want to do right. And… that's you, Granger. You do all those things. You make me want to be a better wizard. Not just _for you_, but _because of you._"

Hermione stood frozen, her lips parted as she looked up to him in shock, as if trying to process his declaration. "Draco… I… this is—"

"Oh fuck," Draco breathed, his hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose as the jitters he felt morphed into a leadened brick. It was one-sided. She didn't feel the same. He'd literally just ruined the best thing he'd had going for him at work. He'd have to request a new office. Which meant a new office mate—and likely one who wasn't anywhere near as pleasant to be around as Granger.

"You don't feel the same, do you?" Draco questioned as he dropped his hand lamely to his side, a grimace taking over his features. "Merlin, I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to make you uncomfortab—"

Before he could even get the sentence out, Hermione moved from her apartment towards him. Her small hand curled into the front of his jumper and she pulled him towards her as she leaned up on her toes to close the distance between them.

Her lips felt like velvet against his. Soft and supple. He wanted to lose himself in the feeling of them pressed against his. His hands instinctively went to her waist and pulled her body closer to his until she melded perfectly into him.

The kiss was chaste, the promise of more lingering as her lips parted against his, hot breath tickling his chin as she pulled back to look up at him, a pink tint coloring her cheeks.

Draco gulped, his Adam's apple running the column of his throat as he looked down at her. His mind whirled, trying to catch up to what just occurred. He was so sure he'd ruined their friendship, that it felt like he had bloody whiplash from the change of events. "Does… this mean you like me, too?" Draco breathed his question, his fingers playing with the hem of her ratty cardigan, letting the worn fabric slide beneath his fingertips as he stroked across her lower back.

Hermione let out a small laugh as a smile widened across her features. Her eyes crinkled, and when she looked down to where her body pressed into his, his eyes followed her lead. "Yes, Draco. I like you," she said softly before lifting her gaze back up to his. "One might even say I_ like like_ you."

Draco could feel his lips twitch in response to her tease and his hand rose from her waist to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her blush before he brought her lips back up to his. He knew this—whatever it was between them was likely going to be complicated. Beyond their unique history, there was the fact she was divorced, a social faux pas within Pureblood circles—and still friends with a pair of wizards who would likely not be keen on her involvement with him. And of course, he had his parents to deal with. Nevermind the fact that Draco also needed to determine just how he would work her into the routine of his life. But for now, Draco couldn't be bothered with thinking about the logistics of it all. There would be plenty of time to figure that all out later.

No, for now Draco wanted to spend as much time as he could enjoying the feeling of her lips beneath his, and the weight of her body in his arms.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

And that's a wrap. Thank you to the team of amazing fandom friends who helped put this together- Mcal, Disenchantedglow, & tofadeaway. Without them this story would not have made it this long. Thank you to themourningmadam for hosting this fun fest. I hope you enjoyed my interpretation of Taper Tom! After all, Draco make's the most darling unhappy princess, doesn't he? ;)

Until next time, xx.


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